Raising a Wildflower
by tiaoconnell
Summary: PREQUEL to A Rose Blooms in Baker Street. Series of one-shot fics detailing Rose's growing years! Includes disciplinary spankings- don't read if that bothers you.
1. Out All Night

It was well after dark when Mycroft Holmes returned home. While some people might not think 10pm was all that late, it was extremely late for Mycroft; he'd been up since 3:30 that morning. Protecting Britain was a never ending job and seemed to grow more complex by the year as the nation was met with new challenges and he moved up the ranks in the British government. Not to mention his work for the British Secret Service on a strictly unofficial and hush-hush basis.

Opening the front door of the house, Mycroft closed it quietly behind him. The house was dark, but he wasn't really surprised by that. Most of the house's inhabitants should be asleep and he intended to join them in short order.

He opened the door of his office and stepped inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Mycroft realized there was something in his large, plush desk chair. Moving closer, he saw it was not a some_thing_; rather it was a some_one._ A very small someone, in fact, all curled up and holding a teddy bear.

"Rose? What are you doing in my office? More importantly, what are you doing out of bed?" he asked quietly as he approached the chair.

A head of silky black curls moved and his four-year-old sister looked up at him with sleepy eyes.

"Poppet, you know better than to play in here," Mycroft scolded lightly as he plucked her out of the chair. Sitting down he settled her on his lap, smiling as a tiny hand grasped onto his shirt.

"Mummy said," Rose murmured, snuggling close.

An eyebrow quirked. "Hmm. I doubt that very much, miss. Where is Mother?"

"Sleeping."

"And you are not because…?"

A yawn escaped. "Missed you."

Mycroft couldn't keep the tender smile from his face. "I missed you today, too, Poppet. But it's very late. Long past the time that little girls should be in bed. Who put who you to bed?" He truly hoped someone had remembered to put her to bed!

"Sherlock," Rose told him. "He tolded me a story."

"Was it a nice story?" Sherlock had a habit of turning current high profile crimes into bedtime stories, something Mycroft strongly objected to. His teenaged brother needed a filter sometimes when it came to Rose.

She nodded. "Very nice. And he singed me the baby song with the funny word. Melly…mella, I dunno," Rose decided.

Ah. Sherlock had taken to using crooner songs for lullabies again, Mycroft thought. "Melancholy Baby?" he asked. "How long have you been down here, Poppet?"

"That one. I camed down when Mummy sleeped," she admitted. "You took a long, long time My."

He chuckled softly. "I'm sorry Rose. I'll try to be home earlier tomorrow, hmm?"

She nodded, her curls bouncing with the movement.

"And now it's time for bed," Mycroft decided. He stood up, still holding her in his arms. He smiled as a little arm hooked around his neck and Rose nuzzled her head against his neck. He carried Rose upstairs and into her room, putting her down gently on the bed. "Under the covers now; Teddy too."

Rose complied, burrowing under the covers with her bear. She gave him a sleepy smile as he tucked her in snuggly.

"Good night Rose. Stay in bed this time, please." Mycroft got up to leave, but paused when he heard a little whining sound.

"My!" Rose protested.

"It's bedtime now," he told her firmly.

A could see a distinct pout on her face. "Kisses."

Mycroft closed his eyes and mentally sighed. He really _was_ tired. Rose never went to bed, ever, unless everyone in the house gave her goodnight kisses. He sat down on the side of her bed and leaned over, brushing curls from her face before kissing her forehead.

"Night, My. Love you," she whispered, her eyes closing.

He smiled. "Goodnight Poppet." Mycroft sat there a few moments longer, waiting for her to fall asleep. Had anyone told him four years ago that he would enjoy moments like this, and gladly bear the responsibility of raising his baby sister, he would have laughed. Now, he wouldn't trade moments like this for the world.

_Twelve Years Later_

Hands clasped behind his back, Mycroft Holmes was pacing around his office. He tried very, very hard to be lenient with his little sister, Rose, who at sixteen was already at university, and tried to enforce appropriate rules for her unique situation. There was, however, one rule that he was absolutely unwilling to change, and that was curfew. At sixteen, there was no reason in the world by Rose should not be home by 10:30pm on a school night or 11:30pm on weekends.

Yet, here he was, pacing his office at 12:30a.m. Mycroft was certain he could feel his blood pressure rising with every moment that passed without hearing the front door open, or his mobile ring. He wasn't an unreasonable man. Sometimes delays happened that were unavoidable and he had promised Rose that as long as she contacted him to advise him of a delay or that she needed a ride, or anything of that nature, she would not be punished for breaking curfew. At the present moment, she was one hour late, but for now he would wait. Surely she would call at any moment or unlock the front door any second; then he'd bellow at her, smack her soundly, and then feel relieved she was alright.

Only she didn't.

At 1:15a.m. Mycroft hacked into Rose's mobile. She was far cleverer than he'd anticipated and had no contacts stored in her mobile other than his number and Sherlock's, meaning she had committed any other important numbers to memory. Her texts and call history were deleted as well. Worst of all, the mobile was off and he couldn't trace it unless it was on.

By 2 a.m. Mycroft was giving considerable thought to calling the last person he ever wanted to turn to for help: Sherlock. He'd already gone to Rose's room and searched for clues of where she had gone and with whom, but come up empty handed. Grabbing his mobile, Mycroft placed a call.

x

"Lestrade!" Someone called across the large room. "Lestrade! You can't leave yet!"

Greg Lestrade stopped and let out a groan. "And why the hell not?" he asked his partner.

"We've got a case. From high up. Missing minor, potential kidnapping."

Lestrade frowned. "Not my division."

"It is when our boss's boss says it is."

Scowling now, Lestrade grabbed the report from his partner and scanned it. "Rosenwyn Holmes? Who made this report?" he said aloud, scanning it further. "Lovely. Just lovely. Does anyone even know what bloody Mycroft Holmes even does?" He threw the folder on the floor and headed to the lift.

x

It was 5 a.m. He should have been at home, asleep, three hours ago. Only he wasn't, he was scouring the city for some teenager having a fit of pique and Sherlock had been ducking his calls. But Lestrade kept calling all the same. Finally, there was an answer.

"Yes? I prefer text, you know that," Sherlock commented.

"Well this is important. Please tell me you know where your sister is so I can bring her arse back to Mycroft and go home and sleep."

There was a pause. "You're looking for my sister? Why?"

"She never made it home last night, Sherlock. You didn't know?" Lestrade was dumbfounded. Was the relationship between the Holmes brothers really so bad off that one couldn't call the other when their sister was missing?

"No. Meet me at Mycroft's."

"I do _not _need your assistance, Sherlock!"

"Very clearly you do, brother. If you didn't Rose would be home right now, wouldn't she? She out smarted you. I'm really almost proud, but I'm too angry," Sherlock growled.

"Oh both of you just _shut _up!" Lestrade said.

Rolling his eyes at Lestrade's dramatics, Sherlock headed upstairs to Rose's bedroom with Mycroft right behind him.

"I've already looked in here. There's nothing," Mycroft said. "That's just her homework Sherlock."

"And all her friends right now are university friends, which is where this homework comes from," Sherlock pointed out. He flipped through a few folders and a couple notebooks before stopping. There was something circled, the pen dug deep into the paper as it wrote.

"Find something?"

Sherlock began laughing. "Ah, my clever, clever little Rose," he murmured, holding up the notebook. "Its shorthand; my shorthand to be specific. I taught her that. You never even looked in this notebook did you? No, just called out all possible police personnel."

"Does it tell you where she is?" Lestrade asked. He looked and sounded exhausted.

"Indeed. Follow me," Sherlock said to Lestrade, hurrying down the stairs. "Don't follow me Mycroft. I'll bring her home." He had a feeling that Mycroft wouldn't want to be there when he found Rose.

"Where are we going?" Lestrade asked when they got outside.

"A 'rave'. We really need to stop her from making friends with Americans," Sherlock grumbled.

"How do you know it's an American?"

"Because we don't give children names like "Diesel" here."

Lestrade laughed. "No, just names like Mycroft, Sherlock and Rosenwyn, which are completely normal."

"Do you, or do not want to make a drugs bust, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked. "Because I could call someone else; Dimmick, for example."

"No, I don't want to miss this. It's going to be fun, I'm certain of it!"

"Sherlock, this is an abandoned warehouse area. No one in their right mind comes here for anything, let alone to have a fun time," Lestrade pointed out.

"Who said anything about them being in their right minds?" Sherlock questioned. He stopped and pointed at one of the buildings. "This one. Time to call in people if you want to." Without waiting for a response, Sherlock headed inside the abandoned warehouse.

Lestrade followed Sherlock, who followed the sound of laughter and music, which ultimately led them to an open portion of the warehouse that had been turned into some sort of lounge/dance floor. Random bits of furniture were spread around and people were dancing on the open area of the floor. Scantily clad young women and young men looking to get lucky were cavorting about in a haze of marijuana, liquor in their hands.

Sherlock's eyes scanned the room and then he found her. His sister was sitting on some fellow's lap, laughing as if she was high as a kite. He stalked across the room and the closer he came to Rose, the more convinced he was that she was high. Not smoking, but the amount of marijuana haze in the room was bound to get anyone high, and she was drinking from an exceptionally large glass of alcohol.

"SHERLOCK!" She squealed as he drew nearer. Rose tried to wave but merely managed to slop liquor onto the floor.

An eyebrow quirked. "You cannot possibly be that glad to see me. In fact, I'll make certain you aren't glad you saw me. Get up Rosenwyn. Say goodbye to these people that you will never see again and then I'm taking you-" Sherlock paused. He couldn't take her back to Mycroft like this. In all good consciousness as her older brother, he couldn't just hand her over to _Mycroft_ in this state.

"I'm taking you home with me and we're going to have a nice long discussion about how idiotic you are. Get up Rose. NOW!"

She giggled and stumbled to her feet.

"My god, how short is that skirt? That can't possibly even qualify as a skirt. I'm burning it," Sherlock decided. He took his coat off and effectively manhandled her into it amid a torrent of giggles. She stank of alcohol and once he released her, she sat down on the boy's lap again.

"Oh, no. _No._" He hauled her to her feet and looked in her eyes. "You aren't going to remember this, I'm sure, but just so you're aware, I'm going to murder you in the morning."

She giggled and sat down again.

Sighing heavily, Sherlock picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and walked out of the warehouse to find a cab. As he walked away, he could hear Lestrade roaring with laughter.

Once he caught a cab he practically tossed Rose inside, and then gave the driver the address of his small flat.

'Found her. She's fine. Taking her to my flat. SH'

'Bring her back here. M'

'No. She fell asleep and my flat is closer. Will bring her over tomorrow. SH'

'Fine. M'

The morning came quick for Sherlock, who was far too worked up to sleep; not to mention he hadn't been tired. Instead, he spent the hours while his sister slept through her drunken stupor deciding just how to respond to her behavior. There was no way he could just let this slide. As a general rule, he though Mycroft had too many rules for Rose and that was why she did what she did. Sherlock was starting to rethink that notion and even grudgingly admit that Rose was a handful. While he had no intention of telling Mycroft what he'd walked into last night, Sherlock wasn't going to let her get away with it either. By the time she woke up, he had a plan.

"Ah. I see you're among the living still," Sherlock commented as she stumbled out of his bedroom. "How's that head?"

Rose groaned in response and flopped onto the couch.

"About what I suspected." He left the room for a moment, returning with a tablet and a glass of water. "Swallow this. It'll help."

"Why am I here? I don't remember coming here," Rose admitted after taking the tablet.

"That is not at all surprising. You had quite the night Rosenwyn! Party at an abandoned warehouse? Drinking? And though you weren't smoking, you were certainly high off it just from being in the same room. You came to be here because _I _found you, not Mycroft. And you should be eternally grateful for that, young lady," Sherlock scolded. "Because Mycroft probably wouldn't have waited until he took you home to smack you."

Rose gaped at him.

"And don't get me started on that skirt. It's going in the bins, today, and if you fuss at me about it, I'll burn it."

"Who _are_ you?" she finally asked. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm your brother, that's who I am. And because I'm your brother, there is no way in _hell _I'm letting you get away with that. You are in a world of trouble, Rosenwyn."

"You're ridiculous," she decided. "Completely ridiculous."

"Come here," Sherlock said, crooking his finger at her. "Come here, now."

"I'm good thanks. Stop being a git Sherlock. You've made your point. I'll find a safer place to party next time," Rose told him.

"That's what you think I'm angry about? Just that and not all the other idiotic things you were doing? Do you actually think that is acceptable behavior, Rosenwyn?" Sherlock asked. "I consider myself quite lenient with you, but _this, _my dear sister, is where I draw the line! You are going to be spanked, and I do mean _spanked_."

Rose threw a pillow at him. "Shut up Sherlock. This isn't funny."

"Do I not look and sound serious right now?"

"You look like an idiot. Stop scolding me, that's not your job. You can't spank me, I won't let you." Sherlock hadn't spanked her in at least two years! He'd never been much of a spanker to begin with, probably because Mycroft was so much of one that there didn't need to be two.

"I'm not asking your permission," Sherlock growled. "Are you going to come here, as I asked, or do I need to count?"

She tossed another pillow at him, rolling her eyes.

"Clearly, you're not taking me seriously!"

Rose watched in horror as he sprang up from the couch. Luckily for her, he didn't spring at her. Instead, he stalked into the kitchen and began rummaging around. She sat there, feeling on edge, until suddenly he rounded the corner and came back with an incredibly large wooden spoon.

She opened her mouth and said "Wha-?" and that was as far as she got.

Rose let out an indignant squeak as Sherlock pulled her up by her arm. Once she was up and standing, he started smacking her bottom, hard, with the wooden spoon. "Ow! Ow! Sherlock! OW! SHIT!"

"Watch your language," Sherlock snapped at her. "Are you coming to understand that I mean business right now, Rosenwyn? That I'm going to hold you accountable for being an absolute idiot?"

"Yessss! Ow! Sherlock STOP!" Rose was squirming to get away.

"Stand still, show me you'll cooperate, and we'll get on with our discussion of your behavior," Sherlock explained.

"This isn't the discussion?!" she shrieked.

"No, this is to get your attention. Do I have it?"

Rose stamped her foot once, then remained still as instructed, though she continued to yelp.

After another six smacks fell, Sherlock stopped and put the wooden spoon down on the coffee table. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he looked into her eyes. "Are you listening?"

Rose nodded, a hand sneaking behind her to rub her stinging behind.

"Good. Now listen, and listen hard Rosenwyn," Sherlock continued. "What you did was completely unacceptable. I cannot, in good conscience, let you go on your merry way with no repercussions. What if you had passed out and they'd left you there? What if you'd gotten alcohol poisoning? What if someone tried to take advantage of the fact you were drunk and high? What would you have done then?"

Biting her lip, Rose looked down.

"No. Eyes on me." He waited for her to look up again. "I'd like an answer to that question."

"I don't know what I would have done," she admitted. "I didn't think about all that."

Sherlock nodded. "Which is precisely the problem, Rose. Though I'm certain you intentionally broke your curfew, am I correct?"

"Yeah."

She's sounding younger by the second, Sherlock thought to himself. "I care far too much about you to let you be stupid. I'm not angry because you broke my rules, because I don't have any. I'm not angry at you for worrying Mycroft. I'm angry that _you _don't care enough about yourself to use a bit of common sense before you go off frolicking with your friends. Despite whatever your best efforts might be to the contrary, you. Will. Stay. Safe. And if that means I must follow you around and smack your behind when you don't stop to think, then I'll do it. Daily if necessary; though that would quickly become inconvenient," he admitted.

He could see the tears welling up in her eyes. How does Mycroft do this on a regular basis, Sherlock couldn't help but wonder.

"So there is a rule now. You will make smart, safe choices, and if you aren't certain if it's a smart choice, you will contact me and I'll let you know, without repercussions. You're still learning, and I'm your older brother, it's my job to help you learn. And right now, you're going to learn how seriously I take your safety, because we're going to discuss it at length," Sherlock explained.

"Discuss it?" Rose sounded so hopeful, thinking he meant actual discussion.

"Yes; my hand is going to discuss it with your bottom for a considerable length of time."

"That's not the definition of discussion you know," she said softly, looking down again. "I don't think I like this turn of events very much."

"That's the new definition, my definition. And if you don't like this, make reasonable choices in the future and I'll let Mycroft continue to be the mean brother," he offered.

She giggled just a bit at that, and then sobered once more. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you going to tell Mycroft on me?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't believe that's necessary. I'll let him know the matter has been handled, but you will apologize. He was very worried about you. Every officer in London was looking for you, silly girl. Now, any further questions, or can we get on with things?"

When she said nothing further, Sherlock took a deep breath. "Right," he said. Taking a seat on the couch he took her by the wrist and pulled her to his side. "Over my knees." He knew this was the moment of truth. Either she'd do as he said and he would take care of it, or he'd have no choice but to call Mycroft.

Rose, much to his relief, positioned herself across his lap, her ridiculously short skirt riding up in the process.

"I was serious about this skirt. I'll find you something else to wear home. Mycroft will never let you leave the house again if he sees you in this," Sherlock pointed out. He tugged the skirt up and out of the way before pulling her panties down to her knees.

"No! Sherlock, no!"

"Yes, Rosenwyn, yes." Sherlock ignored the whining noises she made, and the pink splotches left by the wooden spoon, and raised his hand, bringing it down sharply across the center of her bottom. He repeated the smack, and then picked up the pace, smacking her cheeks hard and fast, quickly turning her whole bottom pink.

"Owww! Ow Sherlock, that's too hard!" Rose protested.

"No, it's not. I'm being quite fair, I assure you," Sherlock answered her. "Less talking more thinking. We're discussing, remember?" His hand continued to pepper her bottom with harsh swats and eventually turned his attention to her sit spots. When he began swatting her there, Rose's protests went up in volume, which he ignored. As she began squirming, he tightened his arm around her waist to make sure she stayed over his lap.

When her sit spots were the same shade of pinkish-red as her cheeks, Sherlock turned his attention to her upper thighs and did not lessen he strength behind the smacks.

"Owwwwww! Ow Sherlock!" Rose wailed. She burst into tears and put her hand back, trying to make him stop. For a moment he did, but just to catch her hand. He held it gently to the small of her back before continued.

"Disappearing, is _not _ok," Sherlock lectured. "And I _will_ spank you for it each and _every_ time you do it _because_ I love you, even when you're a little idiot." His hand emphasized particular points of his lecture and Sherlock began upping the strength behind it.

"No being around unsavory characters that are going to give you liquor and expose you to drugs. You think this is bad?" Sherlock asked. Her tears and squirms told him yes, she did think it was. "Trust me, if you end up cited or arrested for this nonsense, this will be a cake walk in comparison."

His hand fell faster and faster, harder and harder until finally he had reached the appropriate shade of red, which was very bright and sore looking. By the time he stopped, Rose had gone still over his lap and was sobbing hard. The sound of it made him feel overwhelmed with guilt; even though he was certain he'd made the right choice.

"Alright, it's all over now Rose," Sherlock soothed. He released the hand he'd been holding and carefully pulled her panties back up before helping her up from his lap. Without any hesitation, he pulled her onto his lap, right side up this time, and positioned her well spanked bottom between his knees and hugged her tightly.

"Shh," Sherlock soothed. "I'm sure it hurts, but you'll live to misbehave another day, I promise." He kept his tone light, trying to get her to calm down. Words weren't what she needed though; it was holding her tightly and rocking her a bit while speaking that did the trick. Funny how she hadn't change much over the years in that regard. Even if it was only a few swats, Rose had been very demanding about post-spanking cuddles.

"You're a good girl, you know that? You really are. I've done far, far worse than this. Maybe that's why I worry about you so much," Sherlock admitted quietly. "You're smart; I know you'll make better choices."

Rose pressed her face to his shoulder, sobbing despite his efforts to soothe her. "'m sorry, 'm sorry," she repeated through her tears.

"I know you are," Sherlock soothed. He stroked her hair and cuddled her as close as was possible. "I know you are. It's all over now. You're forgiven and we don't have to talk about this ever again." Unless she pulled a stunt similar to this; then they _would _talk about this again. "It's alright now. I'm here and I'm holding you and rocking you, so it's alright now darling."

His efforts to soothe her soon paid off; Rose managed to stop crying, though she made no effort to move.

"You've never called me that before," she murmured.

"I have, you just don't remember."

"When?"

Sherlock smiled. "When you were very tiny, and it was just you and me. I read to you a lot. Your eyes lit up when I did and it was fascinating. Never mattered what story I read at all, because I experimented with different books."

"Of course you did," Rose giggled. "Why'd you stop?"

"Because you started to talk, and not just talk, but parrot what people said to you. I didn't want Mycroft to know I called you that," Sherlock admitted. "He would have teased me mercilessly about it. I think you parroted me the most, and that got me in trouble one time, so I censored myself from that point onward."

She frowned. "I got you in trouble?"

He nodded. "A day Mother was feeling quite well she had some friends over for tea. I was playing with you, but you'd wandered off and I was following you. You walked right into the sitting room where Mother and her friends were and promptly said "Shit" a good seven or eight times."

"Oh my god," Rose laughed. "That's terrible, why did I do that?"

"You were two, you had no idea what it meant; you just liked to say things I said. I was just thankful it wasn't something worse than that," Sherlock admitted.

"And let me guess. Mycroft bellowed in that awful way of his?"

He nodded. "He did indeed. And things just progressed poorly for me from that point forward. Definitely not a good day."

"Aw, I'm sorry." Rose kissed his cheek. "I think Mycroft is going to murder me when I get home."

"No, I won't let him. You've had your spanking; it's done with, aside from your apology. Though if he imposes something additionally, for breaking curfew, I can't interfere with that," Sherlock explained. "But you won't get spanked again, promise."

x

"Rosenwyn. So nice of you to bother coming home," Mycroft grumbled when his siblings arrived. "You do know how to tell time, don't you? And in case you forget, your mobile has a clock on it, doesn't it? And why in heaven's name are you in pajama bottoms when you left here in jeans last night?"

Inwardly Sherlock chuckled. _That _explained how she managed to get out of the house in that ridiculous bit of fabric trying to pass for a skirt.

Rose sighed heavily. There was something about that tone that made her feel more like six than sixteen. "Yes, I do and yes, it does," she answered. She began fidgeting as she stood there beside Sherlock, but relaxed when he put an arm around her shoulders.

"They were dirty, I'm having them laundered," Sherlock explained. "Unfortunately she did not have a change of clothing at my flat, so we made do."

Mycroft's eyebrow quirked. "Is that so?" Considering how uncomfortable Rose looked just then, he doubted that was anywhere near the truth.

"We've had a discussion this morning, Rose and I. The matter has been settled," Sherlock stated firmly.

"Oh has it indeed?"

Sherlock nodded. "It was a very lengthy discussion of an uncomfortable nature."

Both eyebrows went up this time. "Oh do tell brother!"

"Please God, can the floor open up and swallow me right now? Please?" Rose asked.

Both men stopped to look at her.

"Was that out loud?"

They nodded.

"Just continue with your torture," she directed, waving her hand at them.

"I spanked her; soundly in fact. And now she has something to say, don't you Rose?" Sherlock prompted.

Rose took a deep breath before looking up at her eldest brother. "I'm very sorry that I worried you. Breaking curfew was inconsiderate and inconvenienced a lot of people for no good reason. Please accept my apologies, Mycroft. Please?"

"Do I want to know what you were doing last night?" Mycroft asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Not really, no," Rose replied in a tiny voice.

"But you're uninjured?"

She looked almost offended at the question. "I'm very injured! Sherlock was really mean!"

"I was _not_!" Sherlock shouted.

Mycroft's stern demeanor cracked and all he could do was shake his head and laugh.

"You would try the patience of a saint, Rosenwyn," he said once his laughter was under control. "Come here, please."

When she hesitated, Sherlock 'helped' by pushing her towards Mycroft. Immediately her hands went back to protect her bottom, but rather than swat her, he instead pulled her into a tight hug.

"You're going to put me in my grave Rose. You can't do that again. I was really frightened for you," he whispered in her ear.

Rose was somewhat surprised by the hug and it took her a moment to put her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I mean it. You're not going to… to…" Rose couldn't quite bring herself to say the word.

"Spank you? No, not if Sherlock took care of that already," he assured her. "But you _are _grounded."

Rose let out a groan that sounded as though it was agony itself. "The trials of my life," she grumbled.

"Yes, you poor, poor child. It's just miserable having brothers who give a damn about you, isn't it?" Mycroft asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Hate you," Rose responded with a scowl, not meaning it even a little.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's very nice dear, we love you too."

We are _so _dysfunctional, Rose thought. Then again, normal families had to be terribly boring, so perhaps theirs wasn't so bad after all.


	2. What is Right is Hard to Do

NOTE: Inspired by Series 3 episode 3. My version of how Sherlock got clean. I started out to write a short fic and it got long of its own accord. Special guest appearance by a young Greg Lestrade! WARNINGS: brief mentions of drugs; angst; bits of fluff.

Mycroft Holmes loved the German language. It had a wonderful growling quality to it that he found quite amusing, and it hadn't taken him more than an hour to learn it. What he didn't like was the German ambassador who was currently sitting in his office, boring him with some supposedly important matter that was nowhere near being important enough to keep him from home at nearly 10p.m.

As he sat there, attempting to seem interested and not respond sarcastically to the annoying man sitting across from him, out of the corner of his eye, Mycroft saw someone waving their hand at him. He briefly looked over to see his new assistant waving at him. It was _so _hard to find good help these days. Then again, he'd only had her a few days and hadn't even bothered to figure out her first name yet. Last names were just fine.

Sending a frown in her direction, Mycroft used the remote on his desk to close the curtains over the window, offering an apology for the interruption to the ambassador. His assistant, however, was not to be deterred and began knocking on the door. Mycroft pressed a button on the intercom. "Russell, I'm in a meeting. Please cease and desist."

The door opened and Mycroft bit back a curse. "Sir, there's a phone call."

"I don't care; can you not see I'm with the ambassador?"

"Sir, I really think you need to take this call," the assistant responded. "It's from home."

If Rose was calling him again because she couldn't find her favorite pajamas or the shoes she wanted to wear tomorrow, there was going to be one very sorry ten year old in his house when he got home, Mycroft thought. He picked up his phone as Russell transferred the call and opened his mouth to start scolding but couldn't get a syllable out. It was in fact his sister and she sounded hysterical.

"My! My I don't know what to do! Sherlock won't wake up! He fell over and he's shaking and spitting up. He won't wake up My!" Rose screamed and sobbed.

"Oh my god," Mycroft said, unable to censor himself.

"Mycroft! What do I do?!"

"I'm going to call you on my mobile, I'll call you right back. I'm leaving right this minute and coming home. Just stay there and keep trying to wake him up," Mycroft instructed. He turned on his mobile and made a silent vow never to turn it off again, then hung up the landline and called Rose back. She was no less upset than she'd been a moment ago.

"Russell, send an ambulance and officers to my home. Call them _now_," Mycroft instructed as he ran through the office. "I'm coming to you as fast as I can Rose. You're being such a good girl, being so helpful for Sherlock and I. Everything will be alright." He only hoped that was the case.

The traffic was unbearable, or at least it felt so to Mycroft. Never had a trek across London taken so long, he was quite sure of it, but he kept talking to Rose, promising he was almost there. Suddenly, the line went dead.

* * *

If it was even possible, Rose was more hysterical when the ambulance arrived. She dropped the phone and ran to the door to open it up. The paramedics rushed by her to where Sherlock was lying on the living room floor. They didn't miss the needle near the chair he'd fallen out of while seizing and directed an officer to collect it as they started chest compressions.

Rose could only stand there, watching it all in horror, until a man stepped in front of her and blocked the view. It was an officer, who knelt down in front of her. "Hi sweetheart," he said soothingly. "My name is Greg. What's your name?"

"Rose Holmes. That's my brother. Is he going to die?"

The little girl looked absolutely terrified and young officer Greg Lestrade's heart went out to her. "The paramedics are going to take very good care of him, I promise. Is there anyone else at home?"

She shook her head. "My isn't here yet."

"Let's find you some shoes and a jacket then, sweetheart. I'm going to take care of you while they take care of your brother. Can you show me where that's at? Please? And who is 'My'?" Greg hoped he could distract her and get her out of the way while they hauled her brother out of the house on a stretcher.

"He's my other brother, Mycroft. I called him and he said he would come," Rose whimpered.

He stood up and took her hand, squeezing it gently, letting her lead him down the hallway. "Oh yes, here we are," he murmured, opening the closet door. Rose wouldn't let go of his hand and Greg could feel her trembling. With his free hand he pulled out a coat and shoes that could only belong to a little girl and sat her on the floor, helping her get into her shoes.

"I want My, where is he? He said he was coming," she whimpered.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon sweetheart. But until he gets here, I'm going to take care of you. Remember? I promise, I won't let anything happen to you." He could hear the stretcher on its way out the door.

"How old are you Rose?" Greg asked. His only response was a resurgence of her sobs. Without a second of hesitation, he lifted her up in his arms. "Hold on to me, alright? Let's go see if 'My' is here yet."

She pressed her face against his neck, wrapped her arms and legs around him as best she could, and let Greg carry her outside. The ambulance doors slammed shut and the paramedics jumped in to head to hospital.

"Want to sit in my car? I'll let you play with the lights," he offered, rubbing Rose's back. Greg could feel her shake her head no. "Alright, should we just sit on the steps then?" This time she nodded in the affirmative.

"You're a brave girl, you know that? Very, very brave," Greg praised as he moved to sit on the front steps with her. He moved her to sit on his lap so she could watch for whoever she was waiting for. If someone wasn't here soon though, he'd have to call children's services.

Within just a few moments, however, a car pulled into the driveway at a high rate of speed and a man practically leaped out of it.

"MY!" Rose screamed. Getting up from the officer's lap, she ran for him. Greg watched as the man scooped her up and held her close.

"Shhh, shhh, you're going to get sick Poppet," Mycroft soothed. "And that won't make anything better, will it, if you have an upset stomach. I know you're scared, but I'm here now."

"I called and you didn't answer and I had to call the lady and I think Sherlock is dying, My, we have to help him," Rose babbled.

"The paramedics are doing that. I'm going to go check on him in a little bit, I'm sure he'll be just fine," Mycroft assured her, hoping that would be true. He nodded at the young officer who was standing near the door, but couldn't take his attention from Rose just yet.

"I need to go to hospital and sit with Sherlock so he isn't frightened," Mycroft said after a few moments. "Would you like to go spend the night with Louise?"

"I wanna go with you!"

"Poppet, you can't. Please don't argue with me," he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. "I need you to do as I say right now, it's very important Rose. I'm going to put you down, and you need to go inside. Get Teddy and your backpack and some clothes for tomorrow while I call Louise's mum. I'll be right here waiting," Mycroft promised as he put her down. He let out a sigh of relief when Rose ran off to her room to get her things.

"Thank you for staying with her. I'm Mycroft Holmes," he said, extending his hand to the officer.

"Greg Lestrade. Not a problem at all. She was very brave."

"Is it alright if I make a call and then speak with you further?" Mycroft asked. When the officer nodded, he took out his mobile and dialed the home phone of Rose's best friend.

"Louise's mummy is on her way to pick you up," he told Rose when she reappeared. "Do you want to go outside and wait for her?"

"Will you come home, My? Will Sherlock come home? I don't want to be alone," Rose whispered.

"I won't ever leave you, I promise. I'm going to come get you from school tomorrow, would you like that? And we'll go out and have a treat, just us. Anywhere you'd like," he offered. "Be my brave girl a bit longer, and wait for Mrs. Gardner so I can talk to the officer."

Rose turned her attention to the officer and gave him a little wave. "Bye Greg."

"Bye sweetheart," Greg replied, giving her a smile.

The two men watched as she went out the front door and sat on the steps waiting for her friend's mum. As soon as Mycroft finished with the officer, he joined her, pulling her onto his lap.

"Is he going to die too?" Rose whispered. "I don't want him too."

"The doctors will take very good care of him," Mycroft assured her. "Don't think about things like that, alright? It will only make you more upset."

"Will you call me later? And tell me he's okay?"

Mycroft nodded and held her tighter. "Yes, I'll do that."

"And you're sure you'll come home?" Rose looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear.

It was a heartbreaking look, and Mycroft wished more than anything he could take that away. "Of course," he assured her. "I promise, Poppet. You won't be alone; I'll always be here to take care of you. I promised you that when you were born and that hasn't changed, nor will it ever."

* * *

Mycroft was still sitting in the hospital when his mobile rang at 8:30am the following morning. He answered it with a tired, "Yes?"

"Mycroft? It's Eleanor Gardner," a woman said.

"Is Rose alright?"

There was a brief pause. "Well, yes and no. Yes, she's well but she won't go to school. She's insisting I bring her in to see you and Sherlock."

"Wailing, weeping and gnashing of teeth, I suppose?"

Eleanor laughed. "Just so! I don't know what to do; she's got her heart set on it."

"Put her on please, I'll try to talk sense into her," Mycroft responded with a sigh.

"My! I'm coming in to see you and Sherlock!" Rose exclaimed before he could get a word out.

"No, you are not," he responded sternly. "You will go to school and I will pick you up and we'll have a treat. Just like we discussed last night."

"Mycroft, no! No! If you don't let Mrs. Gardner bring me in I'll come in a cab all by myself and then make you pay the cabbie when I get there," Rose stated with all the vehemence the ten-year-old could muster.

That was all London needed, Mycroft thought; ten-year-old Rosenwyn Holmes loose. Loose and not _safe_. Damn she was such a clever thing; it was quite hard to keep ahead of her sometimes. "Oh no you will not, Rosenwyn Aramantha. I will spank you _so_ hard you will _never _sit again for the rest of your life if you get in a taxi and come here by yourself." There was a brief pause and he smiled, believing he had won.

"After careful consideration, I've decided I don't care," Rose announced. "Can Mrs. Gardner bring me? I mean it Mycroft, I will come in a cab and I don't care what you do about it."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. As much as he'd like to think it was all bravado on his sister's part, he knew her well enough to know she'd do just as she threatened, no matter what he threatened in return.

"Put Mrs. Gardner back on the phone you horribly disobedient girl," Mycroft responded.

"Mycroft is gonna say I can go!" Rose called out in a sing-song voice as she ran to find her friend's mum, still holding the handset to her ear. "He's going to tell you that, because he doesn't want me to take a cab because he's very afraid I'll get kidnapped and he's told me that lots of times, whenever he doesn't want me to do something that I really want to do."

By the time Mrs. Gardner got back on the phone, Mycroft was laughing helplessly. "Dear god, what did I ever do to deserve her? She's _awful_."

Eleanor laughed, well used to the strange expressions of affection the Holmes family had. "You're blessed and you know it Mycroft Holmes."

"Just bring that ridiculous little girl in, if you'd be so kind," Mycroft requested.

"Of course. I'm always happy to help. She's a lovely little thing."

"Oh, do you really think so? Might I convince you to keep her then? For say… forever?"

The woman laughed again. "We'll drop Louise at school and come over after," she promised.

"Hooray! I get to come!" Rose shouted in the background. "I won!"

* * *

Mycroft was standing outside Sherlock's hospital room, arms crossed over his chest, when Rose and Eleanor arrived. "Thank you, Eleanor. I'll take it from here," he assured the woman. He watched Eleanor give Rose a hug and kiss before leaving.

"You are a very naughty girl Rosenwyn. Manipulation? Already? You're ten years old. You do realize that, don't you?" Mycroft scolded, looking down at her with a stern look.

Rose raised her chin defiantly. "Don't care. I want to see Sherlock."

"And I want to smack you but the nurses would surely frown on that," he replied. "I think a talk about obedience is in order when we get home, don't you?"

"You're awful Mycroft, just awful," Rose pouted.

"I do try, my dear. Now, go in and see Sherlock. Don't pounce on him though, you'll hurt him," Mycroft cautioned.

She nodded before opening the door and sticking her head inside the room. "Sherlock? You awake?"

"There's my girl," Sherlock said, giving her a smile. "Come here."

"I'm going to kiss you all better like Mummy, alright?"

He nodded and waved her over. While she didn't pounce, Rose got onto his bed just the same and kissed his cheeks.

Sherlock grinned at her. "I feel better already."

Completely ignoring the medical equipment he was attached to, Rose snuggled up to him and sighed happily when he hugged her close.

"Mycroft said you were very frightened last night," Sherlock said quietly.

She nodded. "You're better now right? For real?"

"I am better now," he assured her. "And I'm very sorry you were frightened. I didn't mean for that to happen. You were such a brave girl, do you know that? My brave girl. I'm very proud of you, for calling to get me help."

Rose beamed at him. "Love you, you know," she said. "You can't go. We need you, Mycroft and me. Especially me, because you're so much better at telling stories. Mycroft _never _does the voices."

Sherlock laughed. "So you want to keep me around for story time. Is that it? That's all I'm good for?"

"Pretty much!"

"What did we ever do to deserve you?" Sherlock asked, tugging on one of her braids.

"I don't know, but I'm lovely and you know it," Rose told him.

"Says who?" He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Me! And I should know. Since I'm the subject."

"You're an impossible child Rose, do you realize that?" Mycroft asked, taking a seat.

Rose grinned. "Yep! You tell me at least once a day. I love you too Mycroft!"

"She's dangerous, that's what she is. She'd have the world leaders over for tea and solve all the problems before they'd even realize she'd done it," Sherlock decided.

"I think I'll book a trip to the moon should Rose become the caretaker of the free world," Mycroft quipped.

With a grin, Sherlock handed her one of his pillows, which Rose promptly threw at Mycroft. It missed him by a significant margin, but the look of utter irritation on his face sent her into a peal of giggles.

* * *

"I'll be back tomorrow, Sherlock," Mycroft promised when it was time to leave. The tone of his voice made Sherlock distinctly uncomfortable but he couldn't put his finger on why.

"I'll come back too! Promise!" Rose called out.

"Oh no you won't, young lady. You're going to school tomorrow and if I find out you leave the school before you're dismissed, we're going to take a trip to my office at home and it won't be a fun trip," Mycroft warned her.

"Oh _fine_, I'll go," she agreed. "But I'm not happy about it My. Not even one little bit."

"I can live with that," he said, reaching for her hand. "Just see to it you don't get any ridiculous ideas in that head of yours tomorrow to do otherwise. I'll hire a minder for you at school if you don't promise you'll be good and stay there."

Rose sighed heavily. "Alright My, I promise."

* * *

The following morning, after dropping Rose off at school, Mycroft did in fact return to the hospital with a small overnight bag.

"Mycroft," Sherlock acknowledged when he walked in. "What's that?"

With an even more solemn look and air then he usually possessed the eldest Holmes crossed the room and placed the bag onto Sherlock's hospital bed. "I've taken the liberty of packing you a few things. You'll also find a set of keys to a new flat I've rented for you, along with the address."

"You what? Mycroft, what are you on about?"

"I've also hired removal men. They packed your belongings from the house and have taken them to your new flat," Mycroft continued. "Along with some furnishings I purchased on your behalf. When they discharge you today, a car will be waiting for you."

Sherlock just stared at his brother. Surely he couldn't be serious. It almost sounded like he was being thrown out of the house!

"I've also changed the locks on the house, about an hour ago. Don't look at me like that Sherlock," Mycroft said, sounding very tired. "You had to know this was coming. I trusted you, I _needed_ you. Rose needed you. And you were doing cocaine with her in the house. I don't even want to think about how many other times you've likely done that."

"You can't throw me out of the house Mycroft. It's my home too, and she's my sister too."

Sherlock looked so stricken, it almost took Mycroft back. "She is," he replied. "She is your sister too, our sister, who lost her mother ten weeks ago. Ten weeks, Sherlock. I'm certain you have a reason for your behavior, and I'm well aware you aren't a hardcore addict, but I can't allow this to happen again. Rose doesn't have anyone but us Sherlock, and this incident has forced me to do something I never thought I'd have to; choose between you. I have no choice at all but to choose Rose, a little girl in desperate need of some stability in her life."

"She was asleep, she'd been in bed for an hour," Sherlock said quietly, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "This is going to hurt her Mycroft. Do you realize it?"

"And children are always known to stay in bed for the entire night once you put them there," Mycroft responded before pausing to rub his forehead. "It's quite likely to devastate her, I'm aware. But I have to protect her. So for the time being, you are not welcome at home, nor do you live there any longer, nor will your keys work. I have set you up in a decent flat with everything you could possibly need." Mycroft's voice was quiet, but tight, indicating how much this was hurting him.

"There has to be some other option."

"There isn't."

"I'll go to rehab."

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, you will. You'll complete a thirty day program and I won't allow you to see Rose until that's finished. And there will be drug tests, when you want to see her, for six months. Provided all that comes back clean, you'll be welcome back in the house and can see Rose all you'd like without my prior approval or further drug tests. You left me with no choice. You're _making _me hurt her Sherlock. I hope you understand that."

Sherlock's head was bowed and he was carefully regulating his breathing to avoid crying like a child. "Can I speak with her?" He finally asked. "If I call you first, can I speak with her?" He couldn't possibly begin to imagine a life without Rose in it for even a day, let alone thirty.

"Yes, I'll allow that, provided we speak first." That way Mycroft could be certain Sherlock didn't sound high when he called.

"I suppose that's it then? You can leave now. In fact I'd very much like you to leave," Sherlock decided.

The hurt Mycroft could hear in Sherlock's voice nearly broke his resolve. "I'm sorry Sherlock, I truly am."

He nodded before responding in a dull tone, "Tell her I love her and that I'm sorry."

Mycroft nodded. "I will. Call anytime Sherlock, I mean that. I want to help and support you as best I can. I hope you understand, in time, why I had to do this." With one last look at Sherlock, he turned and left the hospital room, praying his brother would wait until he was gone to give in to the tears he'd heard in the younger man's voice.

* * *

It went worse than Mycroft had expected it to. Rose was nearly inconsolable, crying just as hard now as she had when their mother passed. Surely it would be less painful for someone to just remove his heart than have to sit here and try to comfort her, knowing he was the cause of all this distress.

"Make him come back Mycroft! He has to come back!" Rose sobbed. "I want Sherlock, I want him now! I don't want you! I _hate_ you!"

"Rose, please try to understand. Sherlock is sick and he cannot come home until he's better," he responded. It was a lot to ask of a ten year old, to do without the brother she'd hardly spent much time apart from, and Mycroft was aware of it. "Please Rose. I know this is hard," he added. The amount of emotion creeping into his voice just then was disconcerting, but Mycroft chose not to dwell on it.

"NO you don't!" She shouted, adding a good kick to his shin. "You never care about anybody! All you care about is work and now you don't care about Sherlock and I don't care about _you_ if you don't care about Sherlock! Nowhere can be better for him than here with us! I hate you Mycroft, I HATE YOU!" Letting out a heavy sob, Rose turned and ran from the sitting room.

Mycroft knew she didn't mean that at all, and even knew that _she _knew that, and would recognize that fact later on when she calmed down. That did not, however, mean that her words didn't hurt and they hurt far more than he'd anticipated. He was torn on what to do: let her run off and give her the space she needed, so long as she remained in the house, or go after her. After a moment's deliberation he decided it would be best to allow Rose the space she needed. She'd surely come back so they could make up.

* * *

Supper was always served at six in the evening, day in and day out at the Holmes household. There was always at least one family member around to eat at that time, so they'd never bothered to tell Cook any differently. It just so happened that today there were two family members at home; Mycroft and Rose.

Mycroft showed up at precisely six and waited patiently for his sister to arrive. The more time that passed, however, the less patient he became. Surely Rose was hungry by now. She'd not had a snack after school and he hadn't seen or heard her since she'd run off. When seven came and went, Mycroft began searching the house for her. "If she ran off and left this house, I'll strangle her when I get my hands on her," he grumbled, beginning the search in her bedroom.

An hour later he'd checked every possibly place in the house that Rose could be, including the extensive dust-filled attic. Deciding he'd better search the yard and garage before he called the police, Mycroft put on his coat and was about to step outside when he realized he had _not _in fact searched everywhere in the house. He had not searched Sherlock's room, despite passing by the closed door multiple times.

Mycroft headed for Sherlock's bedroom and slowly opened the door, looked inside, and felt his heart sink. If there was anyone in the world who could remind Mycroft he was human and in possession of all the emotions that came with being one, including broken hearts and bursts of sentiment, it was his baby sister. At this moment, she was the exact picture of heartbreak and he could feel tears stinging his eyes.

Rose was wearing one of Sherlock's button ups, which she must have retrieved from the laundry room, snuggled into his bed, fast asleep. He could tell she had been crying, her face still streaked from her tears. Her Teddy, which she could never sleep without, was nowhere in sight and Rose was hugging one of Sherlock's pillows instead. She looked so tiny in Sherlock's big bed. Granted, Rose _was _tiny, as far as the proper height and weight standards for her age group went, but she seemed exceptionally little in the bed. Little, alone, and very sad.

He stood in the doorway and leaned his head against the doorframe for a moment. "I'm just trying to do the right thing," he whispered. What he wouldn't give just then for their mother to be with them, even if she did call him 'Mike' of all things. She would have known precisely what to say and do. If only he could think of what it was she might do for little Rose.

Then it came to him and Mycroft fully entered the room and went quietly to the bed. Slipping his shoes off first, he lay down on the bed and wrapped an arm around Rose. Oh so carefully he pulled her gently towards him until she was snuggled against his chest as he lay on his side. Holding on to her protectively he willed his stomach to stop grumbling about the lack of an evening meal and closed his eyes.

A few hours later, Mycroft awoke as Rose began to stir. He watched the confusion blossom over her face, then the recognition of where she was and why dawn in its place. Her stomach growled loudly and he couldn't help but smile just a little.

"Hi," Rose whispered, rolling over to face him.

"Hello dear," he whispered back.

"Why?"

Mycroft frowned a bit. "Why what? Complete sentences help."

Rose's eyes closed almost completely, until she was looking at him just barely through her long, dark eyelashes. "Why are you here? I said I hated you." Her voice cracked as she spoke.

"Because I love you." It wasn't easy for Mycroft to say those words aloud. He was fairly certain he'd never come right out and said them to Sherlock, but he said them to Rose now and again. Or if he was truthful about it, he told her on a fairly regular basis. Yet each time it took him by surprise, hearing those words come out of his mouth so effortlessly. "You looked very sad and lonely in here, but I didn't want to wake you up."

Quiet tears began sliding down her cheeks and Rose attempted to roll away from him.

"Oh no," Mycroft said firmly, pulling her back. "Why?"

"Complete sentences," she whispered, trying to sound cheeky but failing miserably.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I was horrible to you. I said I hated you My."

Mycroft brushed a few tears away with the pad of his thumb. "I know you didn't mean that Rose. Everything will be alright, I promise. Please don't cry anymore."

Rose opened her mouth to respond but was rudely interrupted as her stomach growled very loudly. It made her pause and smile just a bit.

"Sounds like you could use some dinner. I could as well," Mycroft admitted. "Should we go see what we can find?"

She nodded and got up from the bed and waited for Mycroft to do the same. When he did, Rose threw her arms around him and held on tight.

"Such sentiment," Mycroft grumbled in response. When Rose looked up at him, however, there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He picked her up and carried her out of Sherlock's room in search of some dinner.

* * *

"I feel like a bad parent, letting you eat an entire meal at nearly midnight," Mycroft admitted as they sat down at the small kitchen table.

"That's alright, since you're not my parent. You're Mycroft. Different rules for big brothers," Rose pointed out. "And who decides what is or isn't a bad parent anyway?"

"Authors, apparently. Child experts, psychology professionals, mothers with obscenely large numbers of children. I read all the books."

"Did they help?" she asked curiously.

Mycroft shook his head. "Not really. Here and there something was a bit helpful or caught my attention to try, but by and large they were a waste of time. _Far_ too much sentiment."

Rose smiled at him. "So if they didn't help, why'd you read them in the first place?"

"Can you even begin to imagine the terror that was Sherlock as a child? I was bound and determined that you would be different. That I'd try to make you as normal as I possibly could, given the dysfunction that runs rampant in our family. I wanted you to be normal and happy, I knew Father would be busy and I knew Mother couldn't take care of you all on her own," Mycroft explained.

"You drove Mummy crazy didn't you?"

"Rose, don't talk when your mouth is full. It's disgusting. Clearly I've failed in teaching you any sort of ladylike manners," he scolded lightly.

"Being a lady is boring, My," Rose pointed out, adding a good scowl for emphasis.

"Being a lady will take you places in life Rosenwyn."

"Yep," she agreed, making the 'p' pop. "_Boring_ places."

Mycroft's eyebrow rose. "Close your mouth and eat properly or I'll take your plate away."

Rolling her eyes, Rose chewed and swallowed before asking the question once again.

"Now, clarify your question. Are you asking if I drove Mother crazy as a child or if I drove Mother crazy when you were born?"

Rose scrunched up her nose as she considered the matter. "Both!"

He shook his head, giving her a little bit of a smile. "I will have you know I was a positively delightful child." Mycroft frowned when Rose responded by laughing long and hard. "And in response to the other question, I was… zealous in my efforts to make things just right for you. But I believe, overall, that Mother appreciated my efforts. Finish supper and then it's time for one story and bed."

* * *

One story turned into two and two stories turned into three until finally Mycroft realized what the issue was: she didn't want to be alone. Rose had been clingy since their mother had passed, and had spent several nights in Sherlock's room, when she was feeling particularly vulnerable. Today, it was worse than usual which wasn't surprising.

"No, My, don't go! One more story, please!" Rose was dangerously close to tears and gave him a most pitiful and pleading look.

"Shhh," Mycroft soothed. He already had her on his lap and easily wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. "It's alright Poppet. There's no need for tears."

"Don't leave me My, please. I don't want you to leave me too. I wanna stay with you," Rose whimpered.

As a general rule, Mycroft didn't let her sleep in his room. Many of the parenting books he'd read had discouraged that, but he'd always been the only one in the house concerned about setting a bad precedent. 'What if she never sleeps in her room again?' he'd often asked their mother. She'd just tutted at him, smiled, and ignored him. Sherlock had followed suit. Rose was a big girl, ten years old, and surely could stay in her own room. Mycroft opened his mouth to tell her so, but things didn't go as planned.

"Then I suppose, just this once, I'll let you," he told her quietly. "I'm not going to leave you Rose; not ever. But if it will make you feel more secure, just this once, I'll let you sleep in my room."

Damn his traitorous mouth! Really though, how he could refuse that look of anxiety and vulnerability on her face?

"Get Teddy," Mycroft instructed, indicating the bear. It was a little one, dressed in a pink sleeper with a white collar that he'd purchased for her the day she was born. Rose never slept without it. When Rose picked up the beloved bear, he stood with her in his arms and crossed the room to shut off the light.

"Under the covers with you," he instructed when they entered his room. Mycroft set her gently on the bed before heading for a chest of drawers and taking out his own nightclothes. "I'll be right back." He left the room briefly to change and returned to find Rose under the covers just as he'd asked.

"Have everything you need?" Mycroft checked as he got into bed. The only answer he received was a murmur and slight nod. "Goodnight Poppet." He pulled her close, holding her protectively with one arm, and kissed her cheek.

* * *

The thirty days Sherlock attended a rehab program crawled by excruciatingly slowly for the Holmes family. He missed Rose, she missed him in return, and Mycroft felt terrible for making them both miserable and wished it was easier to do the right thing.

Mycroft thought briefly about hiring a nanny or after school minder for Rose, just until Sherlock completed the program. Eleanor Gardner, and her husband Andrew, wouldn't hear of it when they got wind of it from Rose and insisted on helping in any way they could. Their little Louise and Rose were such good friends, in school and dance together, and Rose was already like a second child to them. Mycroft accepted their kind offer to keep an eye on her.

Finally, however, the day had come for a much needed reunion. Sherlock's drug test had come back clean and Mycroft had alerted both Eleanor and the school that Sherlock would be collecting Rose when school let out. Mycroft almost wished that he could be there to see it, even with all the sentiment that was likely to be practically oozing out of the two of them. Unfortunately, the free world didn't safeguard itself.

* * *

Rose came bounding out of school, hand in hand with Louise, the two little girls chattering and looking for Louise's mum. As they looked, she spotted Sherlock waiting off to the side, trying to avoid all the running and screaming children.

"SHERLOCK!" she screamed before taking off at a run towards him.

Sherlock turned in the direction of her voice and went down on one knee to catch her as Rose threw herself into his arms and practically strangled him in her enthusiasm to hug him tightly. "There's my sweet girl," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

"Are you better? Are you coming home? Does Mycroft know you're here? You can't ever go away Sherlock, never again!" Rose chattered, continuing to hold on tight.

Sherlock chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "I am better and Mycroft said I could come get you today and bring you home." He laughed even harder when she squealed happily and kissed his cheeks. "Just a bit happy to see me, hm?"

Sherlock stood up with her in his arms, letting her keep her arms around his neck and wrap her legs around his midsection. "You look reasonably well. Mycroft been taking good care of you? Though if the state of your hair is any indication, I think I ought to be worried. That braid of yours is horribly crooked," he teased. Rose laughed and the sound of it was certainly the best thing he'd ever heard, Sherlock was sure of it.

"Mycroft can't braid very well," she giggled. "He tried, but you do better. Mrs. Gardner was tutting about it this morning but didn't have time to fix it. I'm never gonna let go of you, ok? Just never."

"Sounds like a fine plan, since I don't intend to let go of you either," he admitted, kissing her cheek. "Want to go home?"

"Can we bake biscuits? Mycroft _never _bakes biscuits with me."

"Mycroft's an awful brother, isn't he? Just rubbish." Sherlock gave her a wink and a smile, which grew even wider when she laughed again. "Let's go home."

* * *

It was just after eleven that night when Mycroft finally made it home, feeling exhausted and a bit worried. He hadn't heard anything from Rose or Sherlock, so surely everything was alright, but he couldn't help being worried all the same. He closed the front door quietly behind him and locked it securely before heading towards the stairs to go check on Rose. He stopped, however, as he passed the sitting room.

The telly was on, tuned to the channel that aired old films and a pan of biscuits was sitting on the coffee table. Sherlock was fast asleep, holding his sleeping sister tightly in his arms. Rose's face was smeared with chocolate chips and Sherlock had flour in his hair. Mycroft could only imagine the state of the kitchen if these two were anything to go by! Shaking his head, he went to the hall closet and retrieved a blanket and covered his siblings with it before going up to bed.


	3. Little Lady

NOTE: _The Dynamics of Combustion_, seen in series 3 episode 3 was written by Mrs. Holmes under the name M. L. Holmes. For my own purposes, I've named her Maud, just because I like it.

The sound of a wailing infant greeted Mycroft as he entered the house, causing him to sigh as he locked the door behind himself. The sound of the wail grew stronger and it wasn't long before said infant and her mother appeared in the entry way while he was still divesting his outdoor clothing.

"Myc! It's so late! Why must they keep you so late?" Maud Holmes inquired with a frown.

"Time zones, Mother," Mycroft answered. "Just because it's the middle of the night here doesn't mean everyone else in the world is sleeping." He closed the distance between them and squeezed his mother's shoulder in a brief show of affection. "Mother, you look awful."

Maud chuckled softly. "Thank you so much dear. That's just what every woman wants to hear."

"I wasn't trying to be insulting," he said, quirking an eyebrow. "I was making a point. You're exhausted. Is she alright?" Mycroft finally spared a look for the little bitty girl in their mother's arms.

"Oh, of course. She's hungry; I've got a bottle warming in the kitchen."

"Why don't you let me take her? I can feed her and put her back in the crib," Mycroft offered. He couldn't help rolling his eyes at the worried look on her face. "I'm here, Father's away, you're exhausted. Surrender the child and go to bed."

Maud laughed once more. "Surrender the child? And you accuse Sherlock of being dramatic." All drama aside, she passed the three week old Rosenwyn Holmes to Mycroft and kissed his cheek. "Thank you Myc. Don't forget to turn the monitor on, hm? And sleep well."

A smile had spread across Mycroft's face as he took Rose into his arms. Her crying had instantly ceased and Rose appeared to be studying him intently. "Hello, little lady. How are you this evening?" he murmured, carrying her into the kitchen. "Your bottle is almost ready. I'm going to feed you so Mother can sleep. She is very tired. You've been keeping her awake too much."

Rose continued to watch him with wide, clear eyes of the most beautiful light blue.

"Yes, I'm well aware you cannot help it," Mycroft assured her. "We've been through this before with Sherlock. Speaking of our brother, I have a feeling you'll end up with a mop of curly hair just like him." Unlike most babies who were born with a bit of peach fuzz for hair, Rose had made her arrival into the world with a good helping of black hair.

When the bottle finished warming, Mycroft tested the temperature before carrying it and Rose into the nursery where he sat down in the rocking chair. "Just in time," he murmured when she began to fuss a bit. The bottle instantly quieted her and he gave the tiny baby another smile. He'd noticed lately that he smiled much more around her than he normally did and hoped no one else was aware of that fact.

"Well, you seem to like your nursery quite well and I'm very glad. Mother had _awful _ideas for it. Cream walls, everything clean and white and full of lace. Dreadful. You're very lucky I changed her mind," Mycroft decided.

_Two Months Earlier_

Mycroft sighed heavily. "Mother, this looks more like a hospital than a nursery. I don't believe that was your intention?"

"Oh Myc," Maud sighed. "She's a little girl, lace is completely appropriate you know."

"It's not so much the lace I object to, it's the whole of it. You know, the books I've been reading-" He paused, giving his mother a scowl as she started laughing. "As I was saying," Mycroft continued when she finished. "The books I've been reading say that colors and patterns are excellent for stimulating a baby's mind."

"What has gotten into you?" Maud inquired, not sounding the least upset. "You were never this way with Sherlock. Why are you so concerned now?"

"Do you really need to ask? We don't want another Sherlock, now do we?"

She was frowning at him now. "That's very unkind Mycroft."

"The truth does hurt."

"So your goal is to be certain she's much more like you than Sherlock? You do realize this will be my third child? And that I don't think there's anything wrong with Sherlock?"

"Precisely why I need to be concerned. Things went so well with me and then… Well, it's all been very unfortunate," Mycroft decided, referencing his brother once more.

"I can't say I won't be grateful for your help," Maud admitted. "With your father away working so often, and Sherlock being the curious child that he is, I'll need your help."

"I'm aware of that and, obviously, not opposed to it."

"When she's big enough to understand, I'm going to tell her all about this. How much you loved her before she was even born and how excited you were to make things just right," Maud decided, giving him a smile.

"That, Mother, is _not _amusing. Don't you dare tell her any such thing!"

_Present_

"I think it turned out quite well," Mycroft decided, surveying the nursery. Two walls were painted a cheerful red as an accent, the other two left white. The room had a ladybug theme, hence the red accent walls. "The ladybugs, I'll have you know, were not my idea. I did not approve, but Mother insisted upon it. I meant a pattern, not oddly disproportionate insects with sickly sweet smiles. But, it wasn't white and lacy, so I consider it a triumph just the same."

He was certain Rose was listening to his every word and he could practically see the intelligence in her eyes. She was going to be a smart little thing when she got older and he'd teach her all sorts of things. All the things Father wouldn't have the time to teach her, regardless of how much he might like to.

When Rose finished the bottle he began burping her, bracing for the potential spit-up and smiling when it didn't come. "You're a good girl Rose," Mycroft praised. "Not that it's necessarily wrong for a baby to spit-up, I would just prefer you don't do that to me, especially when I'm in a work suit. And I don't think you care at all what I'm saying right now, do you?" Her eyelids were growing heavier and Mycroft settled back and began gently rocking her.

"Now, see you're the sort of baby I like. Sherlock was terrible, truly. Always screaming for attention and when he got it, he'd continue to scream so you'd never put him down. Not much has changed in that regard, to be honest. But you're a very good girl, aren't you?" He looked down at her and smiled yet again.

"You're much better behaved already and smarter, too. You cry when you need something, precisely as you ought, and then you just watch the world with those pretty eyes when your needs have been met. You're taking it all in, everything around you, content as can be."

He gently rubbed a tiny hand with his thumb before leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I want you to know Rosenwyn, and yes, I'm calling you Rosenwyn right now because I wish for you to pay attention."

She merely blinked sleepily at him in response.

"I want you to know I'll always be here for you and love you," Mycroft whispered, as if they were sharing a secret. "The world is a scary place sometimes, but you don't need the data on that just now. Only know that I will always take care of you."

Falling silent, Mycroft continued to rock her until he was certain Rose was sleeping. Then, very carefully, he carried her to the crib and placed her in it. "Goodnight little one," he whispered. After making certain the baby monitor was turned on, Mycroft left the room and headed to his own, more than ready for some sleep.


	4. The Heart of the British Nation

NOTE: Written by special request of a dear fan who is feeling icky and wanted some little Rose and Mycroft fluff. Feel better hon!

Mycroft Holmes looked down at his mobile with a frown. It wasn't that he didn't recognize the number, because he did. It was the number of Rose's school. He knew this wasn't going to be a good call and it couldn't come at a worse time. He was due to meet with Her Majesty in twenty minutes. In fact, at right that moment, he was in Buckingham Palace.

"Mycroft Holmes," he answered dully.

"Mr. Holmes, this is Andrea Bishop at-"

"At Rose's primary school, yes," Mycroft cut the woman off. "Is she alright?"

"There's been a bit of a scuffle and she's been taken to surgery for stitches."

"_What?!_" Mycroft demanded. "Stitches?"

"Yes, sir. She'll be alright. But she needs someone to pick her up. She's back and in the nurse's office; she's quite upset."

Mycroft groaned loudly, drawing attention from staff nearby. He completely ignored them. "That's not possible right now. Must she be picked up?"

"Yes, sir."

Of course it would have to be today, right before his meeting, when mother was in Italy and Sherlock was still in his own classes.

"I cannot get away just now. My assistant will pick her up momentarily." Mycroft promptly hung up on the primary school. He spoke briefly to his assistant, instructing her to go get Rose, take her home and stay with her.

"But sir, what if she won't go home?"

"She's four. You cannot handle a four year old, Hubbard?"

"Uh, right. Yes, sir." She nodded and scurried away.

A door down the hallway opened and Mycroft turned in the direction of the noise. "Mr. Holmes? Her Majesty would like to see you now."

* * *

The tea tray had just arrived when a war started in the hallway. Or at least it sounded like a war. The Queen looked at the door in astonishment as people started shouting and the sounds of sobs could be heard.

"Oh dear god," Mycroft murmured, closing his eyes. How the hell was he going to explain that his assistant couldn't handle an upset four year old? Before he could even get up from his chair, the door opened.

The shouting stopped and a tiny girl flew into the room and practically launched herself at Mycroft, who had had enough practice at this to catch her before she fell on the floor.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. I really tried," Hubbard said quietly. The poor woman looked petrified. Mycroft was glad of that, and gave her a particularly stern look. "Your Majesty, I'm so sorry."

The little bundle that Mycroft managed to catch attached herself to him, pressing her face against his neck and sobbed as if the very world had come to an end, babbling through her tears. He instinctively began to soothe her. "Shhh, it's not that bad," he murmured, rubbing her back. "You must calm down now. _Please _Rose, you must calm down. I'll make it better, whatever it is, I promise. Just please stop crying!" He gave the Queen an apologetic look.

"Rose, you're in Buckingham Palace and the queen is here, you have to stop crying right now," Mycroft hissed. He was slightly taken aback when the woman in question frowned at him.

"Whatever is the matter, little one?" the Queen asked.

The sound of someone else caused Rose to momentarily pause in her tears and Mycroft seized the opportunity to extricate her arms from around his neck. He turned her around in his lap and watched his little sister's eyes grow wide. "See? Buckingham Palace and the Queen. She asked you a question, you must answer it," he said softly. He took his handkerchief out and dried her face.

"Are you really the Queen?" Rose asked. She pushed Mycroft's hand away when he tried to smooth the abundant black curls down into a bit more orderly fashion.

"I am! You must be Rose," the older woman responded.

Rose nodded. "Yes. I got hurt at school and I don't like Hubbard," she stated as if that explained everything.

"And disliking Hubbard is a sufficient reason to have a wobbler in the hallway of Buckingham Palace?" Mycroft asked, giving her a look.

She pouted and pushed some curls away from her forehead. "I got stitches and it was awful," she told him, her lower lip trembling.

Sure enough, there were three stitches just above the hairline. "You did get injured, didn't you?" he said softly, hugging her tightly. "My poor Rose. What happened?"

"Two boys were making fun of me, because I'm little and I told them to shut up, like Sherlock always tells you," Rose began. "And then one of them pushed me and I fell and hit my head. I just wanted to play too! It wasn't nice! And it hurt when they put them in and you weren't _there!_"

"I'm very sorry I wasn't there," Mycroft said sincerely. "But I really need you to go home with Hubbard. I have to work. I'll bring home a special treat."

Rose scowled and said firmly, "No."

"That's a familiar look," the Queen said with a chuckle. "Would you like some tea, my dear? And biscuits?"

"Your Majesty, please don't feel compelled to indulge her," Mycroft said quietly. He was completely ignored and Rose slid off his lap and approached the tea tray.

"Milk?"

Rose nodded.

"Sugar?"

"Two please," she answered.

The Queen fixed Rose's tea and handed her the cup and saucer, watching as the little girl sat down beside her brother.

Please don't let her break it, Mycroft thought.

"So you must be the Rose that wrote all over that document a while back in Mycroft's office," The Queen said. "With your name. Were you just learning to write?"

"Yes ma'am," Rose answered. "Mycroft was very angry about that. I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's alright. You didn't get in too much trouble did you? I know it's very exciting to learn to write letters and your name."

"I'm not supposed to write on paper that has writing on it. Just plain paper and color books. And not the wall either," she said dutifully.

The Queen chuckled. "Is Mycroft a good brother? Yes, I do see how uncomfortable you are Mycroft. I'm quite amused presently."

Rose nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes! He's wonderful. Sherlock too, 'course."

"Of course," the older woman agreed.

"He takes good care of me. I hope he goes and yells at those boys because that's not okay," Rose added. "Are you going to go shout at them My?"

Mycroft coughed and shifted uncomfortably. "Well… someone will be yelled at, that I can assure you."

"You should poke them with your brolly," Rose decided.

"We do not poke people with umbrellas, Rosenwyn," Mycroft replied sternly.

The little girl gasped. "You do too! You poke Sherlock with it all the time so he'll leave you alone! I saw it Mycroft. It's naughty to tell lies."

His entire face went red and Mycroft had to resist the urge to do more than just poke her with said umbrella.

The queen burst out laughing. "Oh, my dear, you are a delightful little thing!"

Rose beamed. "Thank you ma'am!"

"Her Majesty, Rose," Mycroft corrected.

"Thank you Her Majesty."

Her brother rolled his eyes. "You did that purposely. You're awful."

"I know. You too." Rose put her cup down after a few sips and helped herself to Mycroft's lap.

"Can I take him home now, Majesty? We need to do maths and French."

"Well, I do need to speak with him," The Queen admitted. "Just us adults."

"That's not any fun. I'm lots more fun."

Mycroft pinched her arm gently. "Behave," he murmured.

"Do you have to keep Mycroft for a very long time?"

"Not too long, no. Would you like to have a tour of the kitchens here? I could have someone take you on a tour and when that's done, Mycroft will be ready for you to take home," the Queen offered.

"Can I eat lots of biscuits?"

"Why not?" The Queen laughed.

"I could think of a few reasons why," Mycroft murmured.

Rose looked up at him. "The Queen said, My. And she's more important than you. She has a crown and everything. So if she says I can have biscuits, we should listen," Rose told him seriously.

Then she shifted her direction back to the Queen. "Majesty, can we invite Sherlock and then have a party? You have lots of room," she pointed out.

The woman laughed. "Not today. Perhaps another time. Are you ready for your tour?"

She nodded, and then moved around on Mycroft's lap so she was sitting on her knees. "Kiss it better," she whispered. "Like Mummy does."

It was really unfortunate that he was rather attached to her, because right then Mycroft wanted to strangle her.

"Please, My?"

It was a losing battle and Mycroft knew it. He surrendered and kissed her head near her stitches.

Rose immediately responded by kissing his cheek in return. "I'll eat some biscuits for you," she whispered. "Love you."

"Love you," he whispered in her ear. Mycroft was certain he began melting when Rose rewarded him with that beautiful smile of hers. "Be a good girl for me. Promise?"

"Promise!" Rose slid off Mycroft's lap and followed a butler out of the room to take her tour.

"I'm so sorry for all that," Mycroft said once they'd left. "I told my assistant to bring her home, not here. Clearly I need a new assistant."

"Don't be concerned about it Mycroft. I've had children of my own, remember? Grandchildren too. She really is a sweet thing, and I don't blame her for being upset. Don't think anything of it." When a fresh cup arrived for Mycroft to have tea, the two began their business.

* * *

An hour later Rose and Mycroft sat in the back of a black sedan. "Are you mad My? That I came?"

"Well you really shouldn't bully Hubbard. That was very naughty to tell her you'd run away if she didn't bring you," he scolded.

"She was very silly to believe me," Rose replied.

"That's an excellent point. She and I will discuss that at length. I really need to add 'minder' to the description of the position as my P.A.," he mused.

"I like her."

"Hubbard?"

"No! Her Majesty. She's very nice. They make good biscuits at her house."

Mycroft gave her a look. "You're not going to be hungry for the rest of the day, are you?"

She shook her head. "Prolly not. I ate lots and lots of biscuits because she said I could."

He sighed heavily. "Do _not _tell Mother when she comes back that that happened. Queen or no queen, she wouldn't like it if all you ate for supper was sweets."

"Would you be in trouble?"

"No."

"Then why can't we tell her?" She looked genuinely confused.

"Because I said so." He gently poked her nose with a finger.

She laughed and snuggled as close to him as the seatbelt would allow her to. "I really do want you to poke those boys with your brolly. Why else do you always carry it around for?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're an impossible girl, Rosenwyn Holmes."

Rose sighed contentedly when he wrapped an arm around her. "Love you too, My."


	5. Much Ado About Mycroft

It was a typical Thursday: the Holmes siblings had conquered the dining room. Seventeen year old Sherlock worked on an experiment and six year old Rose did her homework. The two siblings worked next to one another, though with a few feet between them, just in case. After all, Rose might just die if Sherlock got something icky on her, or so she was fond of telling him. His response was always "Hmm. Go away then," which translated to "Move three feet away then."

Homework time always came first after school, that was one of Mycroft's rules, and Rose never cared too much or even needed such a rule. She was a diligent student, often not challenged enough in school, hence her moving ahead two academic years at the start of school that fall. Homework tantrums didn't exist, because they were wholly unnecessary. Reminders to do homework were equally unnecessary, especially since it never took her very long to complete her assignments.

Something was distinctly different on this particular Thursday evening. Sherlock had been watching her out of the corner of his eye and she'd spent the last twenty minutes staring at a blank project board. Creative projects were something she generally excelled at, so it was puzzling indeed that she was staring so intently at the board as if willing something to appear.

He watched her discreetly as he continued his own work and wasn't entirely surprised when things suddenly became very dramatic in the dining room. Rose let out a frustrated yell, picked up the poster board and threw it as hard as she could, watching it land on the floor. Before he could say a word, she was up out of her chair, _stomping _on it.

"You are clearly displeased Rose. What is wrong?" Sherlock asked, turning his full attention to his little sister. Her face was flushed red and she rewarded his gentle questioning with a dark scowl; the sort of scowl only a Holmes could give. It was so unfortunate she looked so adorable when she scowled in that fashion, because Sherlock had to try very hard not to laugh.

"I don't want your help Sherlock! Or your comments or anything at all! Just leave me alone!" Rose shouted, her tone full of anger.

An eyebrow quirked as she turned and stomped out of the room. Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh and got up to follow her.

Rose didn't fancy being followed and led him on a merry chase through the upstairs and downstairs of the house until finally he tackled her, albeit gently, onto the floor in the sitting room. He promptly began tickling her mercilessly.

"Nooooooo! Sherlock stop!" Rose squealed, squirming around, batting playfully at his hands. "I want to be angry!"

"Well you can't be," Sherlock responded evenly. "So I'm just going to tickle you until you can't possibly manage to be angry any longer, and then you're going to tell big brother what is bothering you so I can make it better."

It only took a few moments of very earnest tickling until Rose began to laugh and really wiggle around. Her whole face lit up, the anger dissolving in front of his eyes, leaving behind the giggly silly little thing he proudly called 'sister.'

"I surrender! Oh my god Sherlock! Stop! Ahhhhhh!"

And just like that, Sherlock stopped and lifted her up from the floor. "Now let's talk, hm? Yes, I know, you're going to frown again, but you should really keep that in check. I will tickle you to death if I have to," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"That would rather defeat the purpose, the death part," she responded quietly. When he sat on the couch and plopped her into his lap, Rose snuggled close, enjoying the comfort of being held close.

"What's wrong? You never get stroppy over homework," Sherlock pointed out. "So something must be dreadfully wrong and I'd like to help. You know how Mycroft gets when you don't do your homework. Lectures for _hours_."

She let out a sigh and began playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. "I don't want to go to school tomorrow."

"Are you being bullied again? I will kick that nasty boy and his cronies all the way down the street if they're bothering you again," Sherlock said vehemently. He was relieved when Rose shook her head, indicating was not the problem. Unfortunately, she didn't elaborate any further either.

"I cannot read your mind, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear. "At least not _all _the time. You'll have to tell me. Mycroft won't let you stay home unless you're sick."

"I have a project due tomorrow and I didn't do it because I don't want to do it, because it's really, really stupid," Rose blurted out.

That, Sherlock thought, was not the answer he'd expected. "Is it too hard? I can help," he offered. Again, she shook her head. "Why is it stupid? And what's that poor presentation board in the dining room got to do with it?"

Rose didn't respond, and didn't seem inclined to do so anytime soon.

Gently he took her chin in his hand and lifted her head up so he could look into her eyes. "Rose, I really must insist you tell me. Please don't make me be stern; you know I don't like that. I'm the fun brother."

She wrinkled her nose. "Not always."

"Brat," he murmured, kissing her forehead. "I'm quite serious though. One last chance to tell me and then I'll have to do… something. Do something about it and neither of us will like it." God only knew what that would be, but he could think of something on the fly if he had to.

"I don't have a Daddy, I have a Mycroft," Rose whispered.

That… was not what he'd expected; Sherlock had to admit to himself. It was an odd little statement, but clearly it meant something very important to Rose. "If you ever tell anyone I said this, you will _never _sit again. Understand me? And considering you're only six, that's a very, very long time. Think carefully." His eyes sparkled as he made this empty threat with a straight face.

Rose looked up at him and giggled. "Alright, I promise!"

"I don't have any idea what you mean sweetheart. You've got to explain that to me, please," Sherlock whispered.

"We're doing projects, at school, about our families and it's stupid I think," Rose began. "Because I don't have a daddy to talk about."

"Well… you do have a daddy, or did have a daddy, that you could talk about. But that's very hard isn't it, because you don't remember him," he surmised. "So why don't you make your project about Mummy?"

She sighed heavily. "I did Mummy last week."

"What about me? Aren't I the greatest brother that ever lived and worthy of my very own project designed by the amazing Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes?" he asked, his eyes going wide as he deliberately teased her. Rose smiled- success!

"Of course! But it's not your turn yet," Rose explained. "But you are very wonderful and the greatest brother ever. Though Mycroft is okay too."

"Just okay?"

Rose nodded, giggling.

"I feel my very existence has been vindicated, because I am clearly the better brother in this house," Sherlock decided, tickling her tummy just a bit.

"But Sherlock, that's the problem! It's not time for brothers and sisters and pets yet, and we did one parent last week, and I don't have any more parents. Just Mycroft. I have a Mycroft," she explained.

Sherlock kissed the top of her head. "We do indeed have a Mycroft, mores the pity. But I suppose he's ours and people would miss him if we sent him away, so we'd best keep him."

"I would miss him if we sent him away," Rose whispered. She wiggled around in his lap, readjusting her position so she could look him in the face. "What am I going to do Sherlock? If I go to school without my project done, I'll get a bad grade and then Mummy will be sad and Mycroft will scold. But, if I try to stay home and say I'm sick, that's telling lies, and even if My believes me, I'll know it's a lie and it won't feel good."

"Oh my darling, you really must get rid of this moral compass of yours," Sherlock whispered, kissing her cheek. "It will only limit your advancement in this world."

"Mmhm. But that doesn't make a project, if I have one or not," she pointed out.

The solution was very obvious, and had in fact occurred to him immediately upon her explanation of the problem. Sherlock had hoped she would make the connection on her own, but clearly her conflicting emotions over what she believed were her only options was getting in the way.

"I really think there's only one good solution here. It will keep you out of trouble with everyone and give you a project to talk about tomorrow. You will have to do it on Mycroft," Sherlock announced.

"But he's-"

"Not your Daddy, I'm aware. You had a very wonderful Daddy, who loved you very much and missed you when he wasn't here," Sherlock told her truthfully. "But he didn't teach you how to read, did he?"

"No. Mycroft did," Rose admitted.

"And how to make letters and write your name?"

"My did."

"And who checks for monsters under your bed after loudly refusing to do anything so very silly?" Sherlock asked.

Rose smiled brightly. "My does! But it's a secret; we don't talk about it to anyone. Shhh," she cautioned, putting a finger to her lips. "He made me promise. You have to promise now too."

Sherlock nodded. "That is very much a secret and I won't say a word, promise."

"I'll do my project on My, and it will be just as good as everyone else's," Rose decided with a determined look.

"That's my smart girl," Sherlock praised. "Should we go look at the one you made for Mummy and get some ideas for your new one?"

"Yes! It's in my room."

Sherlock stood with her in his arms and carried her upstairs. "Do you ever gain any weight? You weigh nothing at all. Too much dancing," he teased. "Look, I can throw you in the air and you'll go so high!" He promptly stopped and tossed her into the air, easily catching her as she came down, grinning at her squeal of delight.

"There's never too much dancing. The world would be so much happier if everybody danced," Rose told him. "Someday, when I'm a big, I'm going to write a very intelligent paper about it that lots of important and intelligent people will read."

"And what will you call it? Surely such an important work has a title already." Sherlock loved the way Rose's mind worked; it was so different from the way his did at times, and yet she was so very bright, her intelligence unhampered by her sentiments. He never ceased to be impressed with her ideas. She'd make the world a much better place if even 1/16th of them were realized.

"It does," Rose confirmed. "The Waltz That Will Save the World. That's what I'll call it and it will be very, very smart. And people will say "We would like to speak with that girl, Rose Holmes, because she has an utterly brilliant but mad plan. So mad it just might work!" And of course it will!"

"I'd expect nothing less," Sherlock assured her. He paused outside her bedroom door and looked into her eyes, mere inches from his own. "You can do anything you want to do, Rosie. You're smart enough and good enough, and never let anyone say otherwise. Promise?"

She nodded, looking as solemn as a six year old could possibly look. "Promise." Rose leaned forward just a bit, until the tips of their noses touched. "Eskimo kisses," she whispered.

Sherlock promptly feigned dropping her onto the floor, catching her at the last minute to let her land on her feet while she squealed in delight. "That, young lady, is completely unacceptable. There are no kisses allowed, most especially _those _kinds of kisses."

Rose stuck her tongue out at him and then proceeded to giggle as he playfully swatted her bum.

"You're an awful brat, but you're my favorite brat in the whole wide world," Sherlock said, giving her a smile.

"You're my favorite too. My very favorite Sherlock in the whole wide world," Rose promised.

* * *

"Well, what do you think?" Sherlock asked, peering at her completed project.

Rose smiled as he wrapped his arms around her. "We did a very nice job. I'm proud of us," she decided. The poster board had recovered from being stomped on and now featured an array of photographs, a few mementos, and lots of writing about each item in bright blue ink.

"My likes blue, right?" she asked, looking up at Sherlock.

"It's not pink so that's immediately a point in your favor," he teased. "I think he'll like the blue just fine. You made a very smart choice to avoid the glitter."

"I'm not going to show it to My tonight. I'm going to wait and show it to him tomorrow I think, as a surprise. He likes nice surprises." She wiggled out of his arms and turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thanks for helping me Sherlock," Rose said sincerely before kissing his cheek.

"All part of the job," Sherlock murmured. His phone chirped and Sherlock opened it to read the text. "Apparently our big brother has been chained to his desk for this evening. You know what this means, don't you?"

Rose grinned brightly. "Ice cream for supper!"

"Ice cream for supper," he confirmed, returning her smile. "Let's see what we have in the freezer."

"You do that; I'll look in the pantry for fixings! Hooray, ice cream for supper! My very favorite supper in the world!" Rose scurried off to the pantry to search for toppings.

* * *

"The joy of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road! God's in his heaven, all's right with the world, whispered Anne softly." Sherlock closed the book and looked down at his sleepy sister with a smile.

"That was a lovely book," Rose murmured, her eyes heavy. "We'll have to get the next one straight away."

"We will, but not tonight," Sherlock responded. "Now it's time to get you tucked into bed." He got up from the bed and watched her burrow under the covers before tucking them in tightly around her.

Rose reached for her teddy and held it close. "Good night Sherlock. I love you."

He leaned down and brushed curls away from her forehead before giving her a kiss. "Good night Rose."

* * *

The following day Rose was more than ready for presentations to begin at school. They weren't scheduled until after lunch and she just barely made it until it was time to begin!

"It's time for the presentations everyone," Mrs. Parsons announced. "Do we have any volunteers to go first?"

Rose's hand was up before her teacher had even finished the sentence!

"Rose has volunteered, come on up with your project," Mrs. Parsons encouraged.

Beaming brightly, Rose retrieved her poster board and carried up to the front of the room to place on the easel. "I know we've got a special order we're doing these presentations in," she began. "Parents or guardians and then siblings and pets next. So today, I was supposed to talk about my daddy, since I talked about my Mummy last week. Only… I don't have a daddy."

Mrs. Parsons frowned a bit, feeling confused.

"My daddy died when I was only two and I really don't remember him at all," Rose explained. "But I do have a Mycroft, my oldest brother and he does lots of important things with me and he's the closest thing I have to a daddy. So I'm going to tell you about him today."

* * *

Mycroft Holmes looked up from the endless pile of paperwork he had to sort out when his intercom buzzed.

"Sir, there's a call from Rose's teacher for you," his PA said.

He let out a groan. "Put it through." There was a pause while the call was transferred. "Mycroft Holmes," he answered.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, this is Georgina Parsons, Rose's teacher," the woman at the other end said.

"And what in god's name has she done this time and do I need to come retrieve her?" he asked.

There was a bit of a pause. "No, no, nothing like that," Georgina assured him. "I wanted to speak with you just briefly about the project she turned in today. We, meaning myself and the school, were unaware of her unique situation-"

"And what does that mean?" Mycroft was getting impatient but tried to keep it out of his tone as much as possible.

"That you're her eldest brother and not her father."

That wasn't what he'd expected to hear t all! "Oh. Yes, that is in fact the case. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well we've been doing projects on our family, to practice speaking in front of people and Rose presented on you today. I was really just calling to say that we are now alerted that you aren't her father, and to let you know she did a really outstanding job. You should be very proud of her, it was the best presentation of the day," Georgina told him.

Mycroft was frowning, but naturally she couldn't see that over the phone. He'd had no idea Rose was giving family presentations, let alone that one was about _him_. "I appreciate your call, Mrs. Parsons. It's always refreshing to hear about Rose's excellent behavior and achievements."

"You're very welcome. Have a lovely weekend Mr. Holmes. Goodbye."

Mycroft pressed the button on his intercom. "Do I have any appointments booked for the remainder of the day?"

"No, sir."

"Then I'm taking this mess home to work on. You know how to reach me if anything should arise."

"Very good sir."

* * *

Rose looked up when a knock sounded on her open bedroom door. "Hi My," she greeted. "Homework's almost done, promise!"

He gave her a bit of a smile. "I'm sure it is. Come sit with me a minute." Mycroft moved across the room and sat on her bed, waiting for her to join him. "I had a call from Mrs. Parsons today," he began.

Rose took a deep breath. "I don't know why, I was very good today," she said, giving him a pout.

"It wasn't regarding anything of that nature," he admitted. "She called to tell me about a project you've been working on and presented today and I had no idea what she was talking about. However, she said you did a wonderful job."

She beamed brightly. "Did you want to see it?" When he nodded, Rose bounded back downstairs and retrieved the poster board from the sitting room and brought it upstairs. She propped it on the bed, leaning against the wall for him to look at.

It was littered with photographs and detailed captions and he looked at each in turn. The photo of them on her first birthday- that had been a particularly uncomfortable moment, when she'd called him 'dada' while their father was standing right there. Leave it to mother to have that exact moment captured for all eternity. In another, they were in the backyard and he was holding her hands as she tried to walk. Her very first day at school, clutching the teddy bear he'd given her tightly in one hand, while he held the other. Sherlock had taken that one, and Mycroft looked far more anxious than their mother did.

Each photograph evoked a specific memory, making him smile as he remembered them all. The birthday card from the Queen made him chuckle, as did her caption. _I was at Buckingham Palace with Mycroft when he visited the Queen. I was four and she made me tea and every year I get a birthday card from her._

Mycroft took his time looking at every single detail, feeling an overwhelming sense of sentiment at it all. God how he hated when that happened, and Rose was always so good at making it happen!

"Do you like it?" Rose asked softly after a few moments of quiet had passed.

"I do," he assured her. "Very much." Mycroft reached out a hand and took her's, pulling her closer to him so he could wrap an arm around her. "I'm very impressed and very… touched, my dear. More than I can say, in fact."

"I was really proud to tell everyone about you today. Though I sort of let them think you're a bit like James Bond, because that's cooler than the fact that you pretty much have a whole bunch of James Bond's working for you. Everyone likes Bond better than they do M," she explained.

Mycroft could only stare at her for a moment before he hugged her tight and laughed long and hard. "Oh my dear, you are…" he tried to find the right word amid his laughter.

"Lovely? Wonderful? Amazing?" Rose offered, giving him a big smile.

He waited until he got his laughter under control before finishing his thought. "My dear, you are undoubtedly the highlight of my every day," he whispered. "But if you tell anyone I said that, I will deny it to my last breath."

Rose hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. "Your secret's safe with me," she promised.


	6. A Study in Pink Crayon

There were moments of raising Rose that Mycroft enjoyed immensely. How excited she looked when he came home, running over to him in that odd half-bounce half-run of hers and demanding he pick her up was one of them. It really was a lovely way to end what were often days filled with boring and tedious responsibilities, and occasionally saving the world from the idiots in charge of its various other portions.

But there were other moments too. Moments when she came for kisses before going to bed; she demanded those, too. At times Mycroft wondered if she had any other tonal qualities at all to her voice. When he could tuck her into bed were lovely moments as well; reading her stories, listening to her reactions to them as he cuddled her close. She always fought so valiantly to stay up for just one more story, but never managed it. Mycroft would kiss the top of her head, tuck the covers in tightly around her, and tell her to sleep well.

Kissing the boo-boos better and seeing her eyes shine brilliantly as she learned new things counted too. There were in fact far too many lovely moments involved in parenting for Mycroft to name. Additionally he would never, ever admit to having any such moments, not even if his life depended on it.

But with all the sweet, fulfilling, and wonderful moments there were less pleasant moments too, such as the one happening this very second. At just that moment, Mycroft was standing in the doorway of his study, his mouth agape as his baby sister wrote on the wall in crayon. Had it not been the wall he would have praised her for spelling her name correctly; they'd been working on that. But this was the wall, and not just any wall, his wall. The wall of his inner sanctum in this house of madness known as the Holmes residence. And that ridiculously adorable little monster was drawing on it! This meant he'd have to be stern with her, which would be a decidedly unhappy moment in the saga that was raising his sister.

_Thirty Minutes Prior_

"Mmm, yes, that's precisely how you do it poppet," Mycroft encouraged the little girl sitting on his lap. "Yes, that's the R and then comes?"

"O," Rose answered, carefully making the letters. She grasped the pink crayon in her right hand, concentrating hard.

Already a perfectionist, Mycroft couldn't help but think. "No, that one's backwards. The S goes like this." He took the crayon and drew an S, facing the proper direction, on the sheet of paper. "See?"

She nodded and crossed out the first S to write the proper one. "Then E like elephant," she told him as she make the final letter of her name.

"Very good! Such a smart girl," Mycroft praised, giving her a smile. "While most little children are running around stupidly and trying to eat sand, you, Rose Holmes, are learning to read and write at just three years old. I'm very proud of you." And he was too! They'd been working together all week, ever since Rose had barged into his study- he really had to remember to shut the door fully- with a book and said "I wanna read the words in my book."

Rose preened under his praise, giving him an adorable grin. "I write your name too," she told him, beginning to make the letters M and Y.

"What about the rest of it?" he asked, chuckling.

"Not 'portant. My is your name," Rose told him.

"Good god, you already talk with a tone that says 'Isn't that obvious?' We're in trouble," he murmured. "Yes, that is in fact my name. Or what you call me at any rate, and that's what matters."

A familiar voice began calling his other name, however, the one only his mother called him and he never forgot to remind her that he hated it when she did so. "Mikey! Mikey I need your help a minute; can you come into the sitting room?"

Mycroft sighed while Rose scowled. "This is writing time."

"It is, but that's Mummy," he told her. "We'll work on this more later." When she let out a little whine of protest, Mycroft merely kissed her forehead and stood up, carrying her from the room. Shutting the door behind him he placed Rose on her feet. "Go find Sherlock and play with him, hm? I'll come find you soon poppet."

Without waiting for a response, Mycroft headed for the sitting room, leaving his precocious sister in the hallway. With the door to his study not fully closed.

Rose was a Holmes, just like her brothers, and very few things escaped her notice, even if she was just three, and she saw the door wasn't fully closed. When Mycroft walked away, she pushed the door open and entered his office.

It took some effort but Rose climbed up into Mycroft's big desk chair and stood in it while she continued to write. She wrote her name and My's again, then Mummy's. She wrote Cat and Dog too but by then her paper was all filled up.

Rose tossed the paper onto the floor and was delighted to find more paper underneath it. This was fancy paper and her finger traced the seal on it. Paper, however, was paper, no matter how fancy, and she wrote her name all over that one too. And the next seven pieces of paper she could find, each of them ending up on the floor when she was done. Rose moved on from writing names and letters to drawing pictures. Suns with smiles and big trees and flowers like Mummy had in the garden and even her brothers.

The lack of anymore paper, however, presented Rose with a problem. She stood there in the chair and frowned in that way only a Holmes could manage. Suddenly, her solution was right before her! One of the chairs that usually sat near the bookshelf in the office was missing, having recently been taken for repair, leaving a big open space on the floor- and on the wall.

Rose sat in the chair and then slid down to the floor, heading straight for the wall and proceeded to draw all over it in vividly pink crayon.

_Present_

"Rosenwyn Holmes!" Mycroft said loudly. He watched in satisfaction as the little girl jumped a mile and turned to look at him with wide eyes. Moving further into the room it was then Mycroft saw the papers on the floor. He stopped to pick them up and let out a massive groan when he caught sight of one of them.

"Rosenwyn, the Queen signed this document! The Queen of England and you wrote all over it!" Mycroft shouted. Immediately following his outburst, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Shouting wouldn't help matters and he doubted very much the fact that the queen had signed this particular paper meant anything at all to her.

After taking a few more deep breaths, Mycroft opened his eyes and deposited the papers on his desk before turning to face his sister, who was watching him with wide eyes. That wasn't very surprising, considering he'd never shouted at _her _before.

"Come here, Rose," he said sternly. Mycroft waited for a moment and when he saw she wasn't moving, he wavered a bit. Had he frightened her? Gentling his voice considerably he tried again. "Rose, come here to me please."

"No!" Rose shouted back at him. "You're mad!"

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I am mad, because you've been naughty and that's unacceptable. We have rules about my study and you've broken them. Come here so we can talk about what you did wrong and how you'll make it better."

Her face growing red, Rose hurled the crayon at him and screamed "NO!"

"You come here _now_ Rose. I'm counting to three and if you don't come over here by the time I say three, you're going to be in very, very big trouble," Mycroft sternly warned her. "One…"

"NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!" Rose chanted, stomping her feet.

An eyebrow quirked. "Two." Mere seconds after saying the word, Rose threw herself on the floor and continued screaming.

Mycroft took a deep breath. "And that is most definitely three." He crossed the room, knelt down, and lifted the screaming and flailing monster off the floor to deliver a very light smack to her behind. Mycroft opened his mouth intending to tell her there were more smacks coming if she didn't stop her tantrum, but such words were no longer necessary. Rose had gone completely still and quiet, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Are you finished?" he asked sternly.

She nodded her head, her black curls bobbing as she did so.

"No more tantrums, I won't have it. In fact, you're having a time out in the corner right now, not only because you drew on the wall, but because you had a tantrum. You're not a baby Rose, you speak very well and you must use your words and not throw fits because you don't like what I have to say."

Rose immediately started to cry, her little fists grabbing his shirt as she pressed her face against him.

"Of course you cry now," Mycroft muttered. It was so pitiful sounding that he began questioning if a time out was even necessary, before realizing that if he did that, then they'd go through this shrieking nonsense again the next time.

"Rose, really, you aren't going to die, it's just a time out," he grumbled while hugging her tightly for a moment. "You were very naughty and you deserve this time out. Let's get this done with." Mycroft stood up with her in his arms and retrieved a footstool, pushing it into the corner. He promptly sat Rose on it and let go of her, cringing as she began crying even harder now.

"You stay here until I come get you," Mycroft instructed her. "Be a good girl and sit right there." He waited several seconds to see if she'd get up. When it appeared she wouldn't, he crossed the room and sat down in his desk chair.

The next three minutes were the longest of his life, Mycroft was sure of it. Rose cried as if she was being tortured and he felt like a first class arse for being the one to make her cry. The guilt was overwhelming and he had to talk himself out of ending her time out early twice within those three minutes. She really wouldn't learn anything at all if he gave in.

Those three painful minutes did in fact end much to his relief and Mycroft went to release his woeful prisoner. Immediately he picked her up and cuddled her close. Rose pressed her face against his shoulder, one little arm going around his neck, one hand clutching his shirt sleeve.

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse!

"Shh, it's alright Rose. There's no need to cry anymore. I'm not mad at you any longer. You were a very, very brave girl for your time out. I know that was hard," he soothed, swaying a bit as he stood there with her in his arms. "Calm down for Mycroft, please? I want to talk with you, but you can't hear me if you're crying." He rubbed her back with one hand, shushing her soothingly for a couple minutes until she quieted.

"Much better," he murmured, kissing her head. He carried her over to his desk chair and sat down, still holding her close.

"Sorry," Rose whispered.

Mycroft gently tipped her head up so they could look at one another. "What are you sorry for poppet?"

"I shouted and threw my crayon at you and I stomped," she whispered.

Halfway there! "Yes you did and those aren't very nice things to do, are they?"

She dutifully shook her head no.

"Are you going to do that again?"

Another head shake, but Mycroft didn't buy it for even a second. There'd be plenty more tantrums in the future and he well knew it, but he didn't say so. Instead he said, "Thank you for apologizing. I forgive you. But that's not the only problem we have, is it?"

Rose snuggled up against his chest even tighter and began playing with one of the buttons on his waistcoat. "No," she said softly. "I colored on the wall."

"There are rules when you play in here that we've talked about before," Mycroft began. "You can only play in here when I'm here. Was I in here?"

She pouted just a bit and shook her head. "No."

"And where do we use color crayons? Do you remember that? I know we've talked about it," he reminded her gently. "Are you supposed to color on the wall?"

"No, just paper." Mycroft would have sworn she let out a sigh as she said it.

"That's right. We color on plain paper- that means paper with nothing on it- and in color books. Not on the walls, the floor, other people, or anywhere else. Do you understand those rules, Rose?"

A nod in the affirmative followed by a meek, "I'm sorry."

"Are you going to do it again?"

"No, My, I promise."

"Good girl," Mycroft praised, hugging her tightly. "You're all forgiven poppet."

"Love you," she whispered, continuing to play with his button.

If it was possible for human beings to melt from emotion, Mycroft knew he would have done it just then. After tantrums, a little swat to the bum, a very traumatic time out and a reminder of the rules, she still loved him.

"I love you too," Mycroft replied, whispering the words in her ear, since they were meant for her and her alone. "I need to do some work now, so you'll have to run along and play Rose."

She let out a little whine and clung possessively to his waistcoat.

"Well, I suppose a few more minutes won't hurt anyone," he muttered to himself. This was the beginning of a slippery slope, Mycroft thought. Too much emotional entanglement, but it was really too late to do anything about it now. Three years too late to be precise.

After another five minutes of cuddles, Mycroft finally managed to convince Rose to go play and watched with a sigh of relief as she ran off to go plague Sherlock. Now it was time to make a phone call, one that wouldn't be particularly fun.

He got up to firmly close the door before picking up his phone and dialing a number very few people in the country had.

"Yes, this is Mycroft Holmes," he began when someone on the other end answered. "That document I retrieved about four hours ago has met with misfortune and I'll regrettably need another copy… Yes, the one Her Majesty signed, please do give her my apologies… What happened? The baby wrote on it… No _of course _not my baby!" he shouted. "Do I really strike you as someone who would have a baby? It was my baby sister... Are you able to get the document redone and signed or do I need to speak with Her Majesty myself?... Very good. I'll be there in thirty minutes to pick it up. If you value your job it will be ready when I arrive."

When Mycroft arrived at Buckingham Palace precisely twenty-seven minutes later, the document was waiting for him as requested.


	7. Caring is Not an Advantage

She'd been planning this for six months. How she'd managed to keep it from her brothers, Rose really had no idea. Though she saw less of Sherlock these days, and Mycroft for that matter, and when she saw My it generally went the way of shouting. But it was time and she was well prepared: two fake passports in addition to her real one, enough clothing for a week, and enough funds to keep her going for four months, if it took her that long to find a job. Where would she go? Anywhere but here would do. And anywhere or anyway that kept she and Mycroft apart. Whether or not Mycroft knew it, Rose knew they needed their space desperately if this wasn't going to end in some sort of emotional bloodbath a permanent familial split.

Rose had messed things up, and she knew it. When Sherlock had finally moved out, she'd pushed every button she knew to get him back. There was something so empty about the house when he wasn't around. It didn't feel the same and she almost couldn't describe it. But she'd pushed Mycroft too far in her attempts to make Sherlock decide to move back in and something had broken between them. Trust, communication, affection, it had all slowly drifted away more and more.

Rose wasn't sure. They hadn't talked like they used to in a really long time, so the truth of it all never really came out and no matter what she'd done, things hadn't been repaired. Had she done the wrong things in order to repair their relationship? Perhaps. Rose really didn't know. They didn't talk much at all anymore. Mycroft worked late and was irritable and impatient, or so it seemed to her. So she'd closed up a bit, and slowly more and more, because if she didn't expect anything, it didn't hurt when she didn't get it. She knew he still loved her on some level. He always would, but… it was different.

Things could have really and truly been solved had the two Holmes siblings, who really did love one another deeply, had bothered to open up and really speak honestly. But that wasn't Mycroft's way, never had been, and Rose couldn't pour her heart out to him if she wasn't certain how he'd respond.

With her bags packed, Rose took one last look at her bedroom, knowing she wouldn't see it again for several months at least. With enough clothing for a week, and her money and passports safely hidden among that clothing, and two books to tide her over, she was ready. Taking a deep breath, Rose placed the letter she'd written to her brother on the end of her bed. It was cliché, she knew it, but he'd find it there and that was the important part.

There was one thing she hadn't packed that, at the very last minute, Rose decided she just couldn't leave behind. Without a second's hesitation, she picked up her Teddy; Mycroft had given it to her the day she was born. When she was little, she'd never slept without it. Sometimes, she still slept with it, when she didn't feel well or had nightmares. She couldn't leave Teddy behind and quickly stuffed the animal into her bag and hurried out of the house and into her cab.

* * *

It was just after 1am and Mycroft was finally home. The house was dark and quiet and he had every intention of going straight to bed. First and foremost, however, he wanted to peek in on Rose and make sure she was home and asleep. He hadn't received any texts from her saying she'd be elsewhere, but it was hard to know with Rose anymore. She had seemed so unhappy lately and he was certain it was because he'd forced her to attend law school. Rose desperately needed some direction in her life, and profession, and law school would give her both. Despite all the tears, he'd been quite certain he was making the right decision.

Mycroft crept quietly up the stairs and stopped when he reached the first door on the right at the top of the landing, he pushed it open carefully. Rose was not in her room and he heaved a huge sigh. God only knew what she was up to.

He flipped on the light and entered the room. The room itself gave him pause; first, because he immediately saw items were missing, namely Teddy which always sat on her pillows, and secondly because Rose's phone was sitting at the foot of the bed beside an envelope.

Mycroft was certain his heart stopped for a moment before he went to her bed and picked up the envelope, removing the letter.

_Dear Mycroft,_

_If you've found this, you must already know I'm gone. You're probably very angry with me, as usual._

_We're not the same anymore and we haven't been for a really long time. I'm sure it's my fault; I'm very good at making a mess out of things as you so often remind me. I know I'm spoiled and disobedient and a horrible brat. I know you meant those things when you said them, each time you said them. They weren't meant as our Holmesian form of "I love you." I know I probably deserved them; no, I know I deserved them._

_ I'm not entirely certain what I did specifically, or when I did it, to make you so unhappy with me. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, a lot of things I never should have done. I've given you plenty of reasons to be disappointed in me, I won't deny it. But I wanted to change. I wanted to make things right between us because this hurts. Sometimes, I think I've made you hate me._

_Over the last year I've tried so hard to do exactly what you asked me to do and try to become the person you wanted me to be, even when it made me desperately unhappy. But nothing has changed. If anything, we're even more unhappy then we were before. You don't trust me, and haven't in some time. You don't believe I ever make good decisions and need to be watched 24/7 like some sort of ticking bomb. And to be honest, I'm sure I've given you plenty of good reasons to think so. _

_But no matter what I've done, I never meant to push you away Mycroft. Ever._

_ But I can't live like this anymore. You have me followed and your people don't even try to act like they aren't doing it. You've spoken to my friends and intimidated the ones you didn't like. You search my room on a regular basis even though I don't keep anything in there I shouldn't. I try to talk to you about this stuff, try to talk to you at all, and you don't even hear me._

_We can't do this anymore. Maybe it doesn't hurt you, but it hurts me. I don't want us to be this way. We need space. Or at least I need space, to think about things, to reevaluate my life, and I need to do it all on my own. That's why I left and why you're reading this. I need to live and breathe and sort myself out. When I'm done doing that, I'll come back. I'm hoping that if I figure who I really am and what I want and think about all the choices I've made, that I'll be a better person and you'll forgive me for all the things I did. Then we can start over and you can trust me again and we'll respect each other and love each other again the way we used to when I was little._

_Please, please don't look for me Mycroft. Don't try to find me and bring me home. This is my one chance to grow up on my own terms and change. I have to change, My. If neither of us do, we really will end up hating each other. So please respect this request and let me make my way for a while on my own, without interference. I'll reach out if I need you, but I've got a plan and I think I'll be okay. I promise I'll come home, but not until I'm ready. _

_Tell Sherlock I'm sorry and that I love him very much and that he shouldn't look for me either._

_I promise, I'll come home someday. I just don't know when that someday will be right now. Even if everything I've done in the past few years says differently, I really do love you My. And I know, deep down, you still love me too. So don't stop, please._

_Goodbye,_

_Rose_

It was as if his legs wouldn't hold him up any longer by the time he'd finished reading and Mycroft sank haphazardly onto her bed. "What have I done?" he whispered, staring at the letter. Things had been bad, and had been for a while, even he knew that. What he hadn't known was that he'd made her feel isolated and… unredeemable. Had he really held on to all that anger at some of the completely mad things she'd pulled over the last couple years and let it build a wall between them? Mycroft hadn't thought so, but now he wasn't so sure.

He wasn't sure of anything at all, with a few small exceptions. He knew he loved her and he knew he had to find her, no matter how much she thought she didn't want him to. This couldn't go on even a moment longer. How, _how _had things gone so badly?

His little sister, his Rose, that he'd raised and loved since the moment she was born, who meant more to him than anyone could possibly ever imagine, was gone. No matter whose fault it was, it was his responsibility to make it right. It was his job, not hers, to fix this. Mycroft knew he would never know another moment of anything remotely resembling peace until she was home safely. Then he, the defacto parent, could make this right. Make certain Rose knew he loved her as much now as he had the first time he'd held her. Tell her that that love would never change no matter what she did.

Mycroft had always said caring wasn't an advantage. All lives end and all hearts are broken, so caring was not an advantage for anyone at anytime. That certainly felt true in that moment, when he was certain his heart was breaking. But what he always left out of that little gem of wisdom that ruled so much of his life was that caring was not voluntary and could not always be controlled by a carefully cultivated icy exterior.

Somewhere along the way he'd lost sight of the privilege it had been to raise Rose. To remember that despite all her faults, she was a teenager no different from any other. In moments of extreme exasperation, he'd said words he hadn't meant and then not taken them back, while she had taken each of them to heart. Caring for her and about her could not be controlled; while initially voluntary- he hadn't actually been asked out loud to raise her after all- from that first moment it had been something beyond his control. At once a great sense of duty, responsibility, care and privilege; often filled with moments of absolute joy that made the darkness of the world he inhabited fall away. And he'd lost sight of all that, let himself subconsciously feel as though she were a burden in an already overloaded life full of massive never ending responsibilities that were only exacerbated by her seemingly constant misbehavior.

But what if it hadn't been constant misbehavior? What, if like all the Holmes siblings, she hadn't quite been able to put her sentiments into words and had been trying to reach out for him and get his attention and instead of looking past her behavior he'd merely punished and pushed her away? Why, god, why hadn't he asked? Why hadn't he paid more attention? Rose had never really been a horrible child, not like legitimately horrible children. Why had he merely resorted to shouting and, in effect, ignore the problem?

This was by far the most monumental mistake he had ever made in his life, bar none in past, present or future. There were endless means of analyzing this letter and every little action that he and Rose had made over the past few years, since Sherlock had finally moved out. His mind raced through them all, unable to stop itself from doing so, with each equation ending in the painful realization that he and he alone was at fault and that _his_ little girl might never come home again.

"Oh god," Mycroft moaned in genuine heartache. "What have I done?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later Sherlock asked the same thing, slamming his elder brother against the wall and looking as angry as Mycroft had ever seen him. "I. Told. You," he said through gritted teeth. "I told you something was wrong, I told you that you were pulling away too much, that you weren't looking beyond the surface of things. How could you let it get this bad Mycroft? HOW?"

Sherlock grabbed him by his shirt front and pulled him forward a bit before slamming him against the wall again. "I would break every bone in your body right now if we didn't need you and your capabilities to find her. We better find her Mycroft. She's out there all alone, god knows where. _Our _Rose."

He released his grip on Mycroft and began searching Rose's bedroom for any clues of where she might be heading. Mycroft went to his office, intending to do everything within his considerable expanse of powers to find Rose and bring her home safe and sound.

_Ten Months Later_

"I thought you said you were never sure if it was really a danger night?" John asked the voice at the other end of the phone call.

"This time I'm certain," Mycroft said firmly. "Stay with him John. Discreetly search the flat if possible. Don't let him out of your sight."

"Why? Why are you certain this time when you've never been certain before?"

"Because this day means something to us… to Sherlock," Mycroft stated, sounding tired.

John frowned at his phone. "What does that mean? What does this day mean? I'd be better able to help him if I knew what the hell you were talking about."

"We don't talk about it," the other man snapped. "And don't ask him about it!"

The phone line went dead, leaving John feeling confused. What could possibly make this ordinary day one that could push Sherlock back into drugs? Granted, he'd noted the man was a bit off today. Or rather, a bit off for Sherlock. But it was 20 December, a day like any other, surely.

He'd been almost _too _quiet and spent most of the day, John was certain, in his mind palace. He looked over at the figure on the couch, wearing a dressing gown, curled up on his side facing the back of the couch. A _lot _of time in his mind palace. There hadn't even been a single experiment or even a mention of one all day.

"Sherlock… is everything alright?"

The man on the couch never moved, but he did reply, "Yes, John."

He sounded tired and if John didn't know the man better, he'd swear Sherlock even sounded a bit… sad? Nostalgic? Something was going on, but how far could he push him? "You're sure?"

"Quite."

"And you'd tell-"

"BE QUIET!" Sherlock bellowed.

That, John decided, had in fact been far enough. With a sigh, he headed into the kitchen to make tea.

* * *

Across town, Mycroft was nursing yet another brandy. He was going to be well into his cups before the night was out, he was certain of it. A man was allowed excess every now again, he supposed. Not him, never him, but today was Rose's nineteenth birthday and he still had no idea where she was or if she was safe, or if she was dead.

He'd never thought that ten months later he'd be sitting here, alone in the house with his brandy in front of the fireplace in what could only be classified as exquisite pain. Not a day went by that he didn't think of her, that he didn't worry about her, that he didn't strain to listen for the tiniest sound that might mean she was in the house. Only it never came, day after day after day.

Rose knew him well apparently, well enough to successfully hide from him and his vast network of resources for ten months. He, however, did not know her well enough to even find new avenues of clues to her whereabouts. She'd used her passport the night she'd left, her name was on a flight manifest and her face on the CCTV footage at Heathrow. She'd been spotted at an airport in Vienna, again on CCTV, and then vanished into thin air.

Her name never came up in any databases, facial recognition wasn't able to locate her through the various spy networks and satellites he may or may not have had legitimate access to. Mycroft had spent considerable time and resources trying to find her, but there'd been nothing. How she managed it he had no idea, and he might even be proud of her cleverness if he wasn't so utterly frightened for her.

Yes, tonight was most definitely a danger night, for Sherlock and for himself, as the day of their beloved sister's birthday passed without her presence. Mycroft had hoped, and even prayed, despite the fact that he didn't really believe in a god or higher power, that she'd come home today. He'd even bought a card and present, just in case.

Part of him wondered if he'd ever see her again, and as the clock chimed exactly midnight, he closed his eyes and offered up yet another prayer, begging whatever or whomever would listen to him, to bring his little girl home today. "Let today be the day," he whispered.


	8. Bringing Up Baby

NOTE: In a previous chapter, I named Mrs. Holmes Maud. I've now named Mr. Holmes William, which explains why Sherlock went by Sherlock.

* * *

_Mycroft, Age 10 and ½_

An eyebrow arched, he surveyed his parents with a look of disdain. "A baby? Why would we want one of those? They're beastly."

His parents had the nerve to laugh at him. "Oh Mikey, babies are wonderful. You were a baby once," Maud Holmes pointed out. "Wouldn't you like to have someone to play with?"

"Babies are not wonderful. They are loud, obnoxious, and often smell. They also shove things into their mouths that have no business being there," Mycroft stated. "A baby is a very bad idea. If you're concerned that I'm lonely, there is a much easier solution. I want a puppy. Let's have one of those instead."

_Seven Months Later_

Mycroft tiptoed through the hall of the hospital as he made his way toward his mother's room. Mother had had the baby late last night and Mycroft had been foisted off on the nearest neighbor. Already the baby was inconveniencing his life and Mycroft hadn't even met it yet! When his father gave him a look, Mycroft plastered a smile on his face before entering the room.

"You look very tired. I told you a baby was a terrible idea," Mycroft stated in that all-too-adult tone of his.

Sometimes Maud and William Holmes couldn't even remember a time when Mycroft hadn't sounded like that.

"Bringing a baby into the world isn't an easy thing," Maud said patiently. "But that's not important just now. Come meet your brother. You'll get to play with him when he grows bigger." She waved her eldest child over to the bed to peek at the infant in her arms.

"Hello," Mycroft greeted it formally. "What's his name?"

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Of course we'll call him Sherlock, since Daddy's name is William," Maud explained. "Do you want to hold him?"

Mycroft shook his head. "When can I have a puppy?"

William rolled his eyes. "You have a brother; you don't need a puppy Mycroft."

"Well he looks rather useless, if you ask me," Mycroft decided.

"We didn't ask," William countered, pinching his son's arm in warning. "And you will love him because he's your brother, and he will love you for the same reason."

"I'd rather have a puppy Father."

_Given Mycroft's thoughts at the time of Sherlock's birth it was a wonder he ever paid any attention to the little boy. Funnily enough, he did come to love that brother of his._

* * *

_Three Months Before Rose's Birth_

Mycroft stood in a local bookstore, scanning the shelves with his eyes. Who would have imagined that so many books could exist on one topic? How hard could parenting really be? Well, if one's child was Sherlock, there would need to be a great many books.

Aside from his pesky younger brother, however, children really couldn't be that complicated, but if the books were anything to go by, there was a great deal to consider. And he, Mycroft Holmes, would consider and prepare and be a very well read person before the latest Holmes entered the world in approximately three months time. After all, he didn't want this one turning out like Sherlock!

Not to mention Father was very rarely home anymore it seemed. Mycroft was, as ever, a realist. Mother's health wasn't always the best and on a certain level he had considered carrying and birthing another child to be a poor decision for her physical wellbeing. For some reason, Mother had been offended when he'd said that, and he hadn't bothered to ask why.

The point, however, was that Mother was unlikely to be able to care for a newborn all on her own and Father was unlikely to stay home for very long after said newborn made her appearance into the world. Thus, it would fall to him to be the defacto parent for the coming child. He had accepted this and decided to be the best possible older brother-parent he could be. This was how he had been led here, to the bookstore, and to this massive section of books on children.

Two hours later, Mycroft had picked out ten of what seemed to be the most helpful of the forty books or so he'd briefly skimmed. He'd have them all read by tomorrow, provided nobody threatened to blow anything up in the next twenty-four hours. One could always hope!

Making his way to the register, Mycroft put the books on the counter and waited his turn. Oh, how he hated waiting!

"Hello, sir," the young female cashier greeted him. "Oh, are you expecting a little one? How exciting! Boy or a girl?"

"Girl," he answered absentmindedly. The only thing he hated more than waiting was inane chatter and small talk.

"Aw, that's so sweet. Wow, that's a lot of books. First one?"

"Yes."

She smiled, not the least bit put off by his sharp tone. "Have you picked out a name yet?'

"I'm certain my mother will name her something suitably ridiculous enough to blend in with the rest of the family."

An awkward bit of silence followed as Mycroft realized how odd that statement was and the cashier tried to think of a suitable way to respond.

"I'll be raising my little sister, who is very much an accidental and unplanned child. She'll be welcome just the same," Mycroft finally said.

"Oh. Father not in the picture?"

He fought to keep the irritation from his voice as he responded. "Not really, no."

The cashier gave him a smile and Mycroft couldn't begin to fathom why. "She'll be a very lucky little girl to have a big brother like you," the young lady said sincerely.

* * *

_Three Months Later- 20 December_

Much like Sherlock, the newest Holmes made her arrival in the world in the wee hours of the morning. 5:47am to be precise.

Father had phoned home the good news, completely unsurprised to find both his sons awake at that time of the morning, and knowing full well it was not because they were anxious to hear about the baby. "Bring Sherlock in this afternoon to see her. She's a lovely little thing. A perfect English rose," William said proudly. "Mother is well and sends her love to you both."

Mycroft did just as he was asked and dutifully came to the hospital with Sherlock in tow that afternoon. While Sherlock had rather been looking forward to a new sibling, he hadn't been thrilled to be bodily dragged away from his latest experiment.

"Were you excited when I was born, Mycroft?"

The elder Holmes child shook his head. "Not a bit. I wanted a puppy, but instead I got you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and was about to respond in kind when they came upon their mother's hospital room and he immediately assumed a very innocent look.

"Boys, how lovely that you came to see us," Maud greeted. "She's even awake for you to greet her properly, isn't that nice? Oh, what have you got Mikey?"

Today, given how exhausted his mother looked, Mycroft decided to forego the usual snide comment about that ridiculous nickname. "For the baby," he said, offering the little pink bag to her.

Maud pulled out the little teddy bear with a smile. It was brown, wearing a pink footed sleeper with a little white collar and was absolutely precious. "Thank you boys!"

"No, that's just from Mycroft. I got the baby something else." Sherlock produced a soft pink receiving blanket, covered in little white stars.

"Oh Mother, please do not start crying," Mycroft grumbled when his mother started sniffling.

"Here Mikey, hold the baby," Maud decided, passing the tiny little girl over.

A beautiful, sweet face peeked out at him from the blanket. Her eyes were wide open and she was studying him intently. Surprisingly thick black hair stood out starkly from the yellow ducky blanket she was wrapped in.

"She's so _small_," Sherlock commented. "Are babies always that small? Was I that small?"

"No, you were about four inches longer," William answered. "Both you boys were tall. She'll be a little thing."

"What's her name?" Mycroft asked. He sat in a chair by the bed and cuddled the newborn close.

"Rosenwyn Aramantha."

Sherlock looked absolutely horrified. "That's a really stupid name," he decided. A few seconds later the eleven year old yelped and rubbed the back of his head, glaring daggers at Mycroft.

"Boys, be kind to each other," William admonished.

With a sigh, Sherlock turned to look at the baby once more. "That's a really big name Mummy. How can you give her such a big name when she's so small? I'm never going to call her that."

"What will you call her then?" Maud asked indulgently.

"Rose. That's much better for her I think. Less stupid, easier to say, and it fits her better," Sherlock explained.

"Actually that's not a bad idea," Mycroft said, taking them all by surprise when he agreed with his younger brother. "Rose should suit her just fine. What do you think?" he asked the baby.

The little bundle blinked at him before closing her eyes and falling fast asleep. "I do believe the young lady in question agrees to the usage of that nickname," Mycroft decided.

* * *

_Age 3 Months_

"Mother, where's Rose? And where's Sherlock for that matter?" Mycroft asked one Saturday morning.

"They're playing together," Maud said with a smile. "Sherlock took her to have tummy time in his room. They were reading last time I checked."

An eyebrow quirked. "Are you certain that's a good idea?"

"I don't see why not. He takes very good care of her. Go see for yourself. I'm going to have a cuppa." Maud kissed Mycroft's cheek and disappeared into the kitchen.

Sighing heavily Mycroft headed upstairs, determined to track down his siblings, ready to murder one if harm had come to the baby. It turned out, however, that he was quite pleasantly surprised.

Sherlock was lying on his stomach on the floor next to Rose, who was lying on her stomach on a blanket. "Hmm. That's not quite correct, but I do think you understand the concept. Or, if you don't, I'll help you when you're bigger and Mummy says you're old enough for experiments. Chemistry is really quite fascinating, don't you agree?"

The little baby cooed around the fist she had in her mouth, eyes focused on the textbook her big brother was holding.

"You cannot possibly think she understands a word of that, Sherlock," Mycroft commented gently. "She merely likes the sound of your voice."

"But baby's minds are like sponges," Sherlock protested. "You told me that, you read it in one of those silly books of yours on bringing up babies."

"They are, but I think chemistry is a bit out of her grasp just now."

"Why are you bothering us, Mycroft? We're bonding. Go away."

Rose made noises, almost as if she agreed with Sherlock, and Mycroft chuckled.

"You worry when I've got her, don't you? I know I'm eleven and you're older than dirt, but I'm not going to hurt her," Sherlock pointed out. "I'm very careful with her. She's my sister too, Mycroft. I won't ever hurt her."

Grudgingly, the eldest brother nodded. "I know. I always worry about her though, and not just with you. Just in general, and I think I always will. We'll have to take care of her, Sherlock, together." Mycroft crossed the room and picked up the baby, cuddling her against his shoulder.

"How are you, Rose?" he asked, rubbing her back. "Were you having tummy time? Building all those muscles up, it's good for you."

"We've been reading," Sherlock said, moving to sit closer to Mycroft. "I read her other things first. A book about a bunny with a stupid name."

"Oh, was it about a bunny named Sherlock?" Mycroft teased.

"Rose, I'm going to tell you a very important thing right now. Are you listening?" Sherlock asked. The baby turned her head at the sound of Sherlock's voice, making her brother smile. "I'm the fun brother and Mycroft is the mean one. Don't forget that!"

* * *

_Age 7.5 Months_

The Holmes house had permanently erupted in chaos. It's youngest member, Rose, was on the move and practically unstoppable. She'd learned to crawl two weeks ago and had become proficient enough that she could move quite quickly. Very little was beyond her ability to access it and nearly everything she touched was promptly put in her mouth.

The chaos that was Rose was currently on the loose, crawling down the front hallway. Mycroft, on the phone with the French ambassador in his office, spotted the renegade in her yellow footed sleeper crawling past his door. He placed the ambassador on hold and exited the study to capture Rose, who giggled and wriggled in his arms.

"Where are Mother and Sherlock, hm?" Mycroft settled Rose on his hip and looked down the hallway. "It would seem you've escaped whoever was watching you. I suppose you'll just have to stay with me." He brought her back into his study and placed her in the playpen he kept in there. It was well stocked with books and toys, which immediately drew her attention, allowing him to return to the phone.

The conversation resumed in French while Rose played with her toys quietly for a few minutes. It wasn't long before the baby started talking to herself, or perhaps to the stuffed toys, in what Mycroft was certain was the loudest of voices.

"Is that a child I hear? Where are you exactly Mycroft?" the ambassador asked.

"I'm attempting to work from home, obviously a mistake. And yes, that is a child. My younger sister escaped her captors and is currently having a very serious conversation with a stuffed dog," Mycroft responded with a sigh.

The ambassador laughed. "This isn't life or death Mycroft. Call me back in an hour. I have little ones of my own, I know how they are."

"If you're certain."

"I am."

The two men said their goodbyes and Mycroft hung up the phone before turning his attention back to Rose. He crossed the room and lifted her out of the playpen, unable to resist smiling when she patted his cheek and began talking to him. "I was speaking with the French ambassador Rose, were you aware of that? Yes, I'm gathering that you don't care about that even a little bit. Silly girl."

The baby laughed and then reached out her arms for Sherlock when he came running into the room.

"She got away from me; I don't know how it happened!"

"She crawls, Sherlock, you must watch her every minute. She's not old enough to know what is and isn't safe and cannot be left to her own devices like that," Mycroft scolded.

Sherlock scowled at his brother before taking Rose and cuddling her close. "He's the mean brother, Rose, remember that. Come on, story time and then I'm going to tuck you in. Mummy said it's my turn."

Mycroft watched them leave, shaking his head.

* * *

_Age 9 months_

Today, the world had not blown itself up or even come near to it. Everyone behaved properly for the most part, he'd met with the Queen for the first time and their meeting had gone well, and he'd received his second promotion this year. Already he was becoming an integral and indispensible part of the government, just as he'd always planned to be. The new office was quite nice as well, but he was undecided at present if he would keep his current PA, who had a tendency to babble and couldn't quite seem to work the intercom properly. Perhaps a few more days would even the young woman out.

As a bit of celebration, Mycroft had left the office at precisely 5pm, much earlier than he usually went home. His sleek black car and blissfully silent driver whisked him back home and he retrieved the key from his pocket to let himself in the door. Once he was inside, he was shocked at what he saw.

There in the sitting room, Rose grabbed hold of the coffee table and pulled herself up onto her legs and then began toddling around. Mycroft held his breath for a moment, hoping she wouldn't fall and smack her head into something, but she was steadier than he'd anticipated.

Dropping his things there in the entry, Mycroft moved closer to the sitting room, smiling when Rose caught sight of him, her little face lighting up. "Well look at you Poppet, such a big girl," he murmured, stopping just outside the room. He went down on one knee and held his arms out. "Come here. Come to me Rose. You can do it. I know it's quite a distance for someone as little as you, but you can do it poppet. Come here."

Rose called out excitedly and began moving towards him. Slowly but surely she walked all the way across the sitting room and right into his arms.

Mycroft was sure he'd never been more proud in all his life. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close and kissing her cheek. "Well done poppet. I'm so very proud of you," he said quietly. "You're growing up so fast. Slow down just a bit, hm? I don't want to miss everything while I'm at work."

The baby merely responded by giving him a wet kiss on the cheek and snuggling against his chest. Maud Holmes, ever ready with a camera, snapped a photograph of the two of them. Mycroft rewarded her with a bit of a scowl, which she completely ignored, smiling brightly in return.

* * *

_20 December- 1st Birthday_

"Will she get to eat all that cake?" Sherlock asked his mother.

Maud looked up from frosting the cake in question and smiled at her youngest son. "No, of course not. We'll give her a piece and she'll mash most of it up and eat a bit of it. The rest is for us."

"Are you going to take pictures? You should, it makes Mycroft so annoyed when you take pictures of him smiling with Rosie," Sherlock reminded her with a smirk.

"And you delight in his discomfort Sherlock, I'm well aware," she chuckled.

"Are you excited for your birthday, Rosie?" Sherlock asked the baby. He smiled when she giggled and walked over to him. "Want to play peek-a-boo?"

The sound of the front door opening caught her attention and Rose squealed in delight when Mycroft and their father appeared in the kitchen a moment later. She ran right over to Mycroft and attached herself to his leg for a moment before holding her arms up.

Mycroft laughed and picked her up. "Hello birthday girl."

"Hi dada," Rose answered. Everyone in the room froze for a moment; she'd just indentified Mycroft as dada in front of her father. She'd never done that before and of course she'd have to do it now, in front of her mostly absent but loving father.

The camera went off, capturing the moment of discomfort forever. William Holmes tried not to look too disappointed, considering he wasn't home very often.

"Baby, aren't you precious," Maud said, finally breaking the silence. "But that's not Daddy. That's Mikey! Can you say Mikey? Mikey."

"Mother, don't get her started on that," Mycroft grumbled. "My name is Mycroft and I don't understand why it is so difficult for you to say the name you gave me."

Maud moved closer to her children and rubbed Rose's cheek with her hand. "Say Mikey, Rose. Mikey. My-key. Sound it out," she encouraged.

Rose scrunched up her face as if thinking hard about what her mother was saying. "Icky?" She asked before looking up at Mycroft. "Icky?"

"Yes, darling, very good!" Maud praised.

Sherlock began laughing, and laughing, and laughing. He laughed so hard he fell off his chair and was practically rolling around on the kitchen floor. "That's hilarious! Mycroft is now Icky. That's superb Rose, really it is. I'm _so _proud! Say it again! Who is that?" he asked, pointing at Mycroft.

"Icky!" No question this time as Rose said the name proudly, knowing she had it correct this time.

"Great job!" Sherlock cheered, clapping his hands. Rose giggled and followed along, clapping her hands too.

"Icky. Icky. Icky." She gave Mycroft a brilliant smile and put her little arms around his neck for a hug.

"Thank you _so _much Mother," Mycroft grumbled as he cuddled Rose. "And Sherlock, I'm going to murder you once Rose is in bed, just so you're aware."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You're a very smart girl, aren't you?" William praised, reaching over to pat Rose's back. "Come to Daddy, princess. Come here! Daddy wants to hold you and give you birthday kisses." He held his arms out for her.

Rose shook her head, giving the man a scowl.

"You look just like Sherlock when you do that," William laughed. "Come on princess."

Mycroft handed her over to their father, smiling a bit as the man cuddled Rose close. The smile didn't last for long however as Rose let out an ear piercing scream and reached for him.

"NO! No! Icky!" Rose cried, reaching out for Mycroft.

Sherlock fell out of his chair again with laughter, while Mycroft, who looked incredibly cross, took Rose back into his arms.

"You're a difficult child," Mycroft told the baby. "And you're hurting Father's feelings. That's not very nice."

Rose settled down as soon as she was back in his arms and rested her head against his shoulder, putting her thumb in her mouth, feeling as though all was now right in the world.

"Sherlock, do get up off the floor dear and try to control yourself," Maud said with a sigh. She reached for her husband's hand and squeezed it gently. "Is everyone ready for cake? We should have some cake."

"I want a very large piece Mummy, and I want to sit by Rose. Can I take pictures of her while she eats? Is she really going to smash the cake? Doesn't she know its better when it's not smashed? And who is going to give her a bath before bed? Can I do it? You never let me do it alone, and I'm twelve now. I'm not going to drop her," Sherlock pointed out.

"Oh Sherlock love, do sit down," Maud laughed. "My inquisitive little boy. We'll worry about bath time later and yes, you may take pictures."

Sherlock took full advantage of having control of the camera, paying far more attention to it than he did his own large slice of cake.

Mycroft helped Rose blow out her candle, as the baby was far more transfixed by the flame than in understanding to blow it out.

As soon as he took the candle out, Rose reached for the cake with both of her little hands, grabbing handfuls of it and bringing it to her mouth.

"Baby, cake goes on the inside," William said with a laugh. He patted Rose's head and was rewarded with a smile, which made him feel a bit better. At least she didn't hate him!

"I think she's trying to get it in there, but most of it is ending up on her face," Mycroft commented. "Little bites Rose, don't choke. That's a big piece of cake for my tiny poppet."

Rose gave him a grin and grabbed more handfuls of cake, trying to shove them both into her mouth at once, smearing it mostly on her face. Some of it did get into her mouth. Some of it also fell on the floor, on her pretty pink party dress, and some of it even got in her hair.

"Rose! Smile! Smile!" Sherlock held the camera and waited until he got Rose's attention before snapping another photo. "She looks more like cake than baby."

"Sweet enough to eat," William said, brushing his hand gently through her curly hair. "Oh dear, crumbs in her hair as well."

As if responding to his comment, Rose touched her hair with both hands, smearing more cake and frosting into it. "Um!"

Mycroft grinned. "Is it yummy? Yummy cake?"

"Um! Um!" Two more handfuls disappeared partially into her mouth while Rose grinned.

"Chew with your mouth closed Rose," Mycroft scolded lightly. "You're going to be a lady, have some manners, poppet."

Rose turned her attention to Mycroft, holding out a handful of smashed cake for him.

"Ew, no Rose," he said firmly. "You can keep your cake all to yourself."

The birthday girl made noises of displeasure and kept thrusting it out towards him.

"Oh just take it Myc, you'll make her happy. She's learning to share! Aren't you, precious?" Maud cooed.

"Mother, we really shouldn't coo at her and speak in baby chatter. She's intelligent enough to be spoken to normally," Mycroft pointed out. After all, he'd read books!

"You and your stupid books," Sherlock grumbled.

Rose drew the attention back to herself by letting out a huge grunt and straining to get Mycroft the nasty bit of cake in her hand.

"Really? Must I Rose?" Mycroft asked, frowning.

"Gah!"

"That's yes, in baby talk," Sherlock decided with a smirk. "Go on Mycroft! Do it!" He grinned devilishly at his older brother.

With a heavy sigh, Mycroft put his hand out and accepted the cake. "Hmm. Thank you Rose. That's very nice to share… I suppose." He promptly put it in a napkin, making a face as he did so. "At least I can be happy she didn't throw it at me like you did, brother mine. That's an improvement."

Sherlock couldn't resist and scooped up a piece of his cake, throwing it at Mycroft, dissolving into hysterical laughter as it hit his brother's chest and rolled down his waistcoat. "Something like that, brother?"

"Ah!" Rose squealed, promptly tossing some of her cake in the general direction of Mycroft. It missed, but she giggled and clapped just the same.

"Thank you Sherlock. You're so very helpful," Mycroft grumbled.

"Gah! Ah!" Rose shouted, tossing more cake.

"Do stop looking so pleased with yourself Rose," Mycroft added.

The baby merely laughed in response and blew him a kiss at Sherlock's insistence she did so.

_Two Weeks Later_

Rose had been calling him Icky for two weeks. Not even "I-key", it was actually "icky" and it was driving Mycroft crazy. He knew she was just a baby and couldn't help it, but Sherlock had been encouraging her to call him that at each and every opportunity. The bear he'd gotten her for her birthday had even been named Icky in his honor, at Sherlock's urging. His brother was the biggest brat in the world and he fervently hoped Rose wouldn't take after Sherlock in that way.

It was, Mycroft decided, time to talk to his baby sister about what his name was, and there was really no better time to do it than bedtime!

"Rose, stand still," Mycroft said with a chuckle. "You're always so wiggly when you get out of the tub. I'm not letting you run nude through the house again, no matter how much it made Mother laugh," he told her firmly.

To Rose, life was mostly a game, and she continued to wriggle and try to escape her big brother. Unfortunately for her, Mycroft was well used to her tricks and had closed the bathroom door behind them so there would be no escape. Somehow he even managed to get her completely dry before wrapping her up in a warm towel and carrying her off to her room. Rose leaned back against his chest as he carried her, placing her thumb in her mouth.

After closing the door behind them, Mycroft set Rose on the floor, rolling his eyes as she began running naked all around her room, laughing and clapping and generally having a wonderful time. In short order, he selected a pink polka dotted footed sleeper and managed to wrestle her into it, amid tickles and kisses and a little bit of begging on his part for some cooperation.

"Are you trying to set a world record for being the hardest one year old to dress?" Mycroft asked in all seriousness. "You're well on your way to winning that title, let me assure you. Now you and I are going to have a talk Poppet. Before we have a story and you get tucked in."

He carried her over to the rocking chair and sat down, cuddling her close. She watched him with those bright eyes of hers, making him smile and kiss her cheek. "Now Rose, this nonsense about calling me Icky has to stop."

"Icky," she said, around the thumb in her mouth. "Icky."

"No. That is _not _my name, no matter what Sherlock or anyone else has told you. Not even close," Mycroft corrected. "My name is Mycroft. My-croft. My-croft," he said repeatedly, saying the name slowly so she could hear the distinct sounds of it. "Can you say that? Can you try Rose?"

"My?" the little girl offered, looking up at him from under her dark eyelashes. "My. My. My. My."

Her eldest brother chuckled and tousled her curls. "You're getting closer. Almost there poppet. Let's try again. Mycroft. Mycroft. My-croft."

Rose yawned and patted his cheek with her little hand. Of course, it was the one with the thumb covered it saliva and Mycroft had to fight the instinctual urge to cringe. "My." She decided. "My."

"Try the end Rose. It's not too hard, I'm sure you can manage it, being the smart girl you are," Mycroft urged her. "Croft. Mycroft."

Her eyes closed and she rested her head against his shoulder. "My," Rose said softly. "My."

Mycroft sighed heavily. "I suppose that will have to suffice," he decided. "It's much better than the alternative at any rate. So 'My' it is."

He began rocking back and forth gently in the chair, humming to Rose and rubbing her back gently. When she fell asleep in his arms, Mycroft stayed in the rocker for a little while longer, unwilling to relinquish her just yet. He leaned a cheek against her curls and closed his eyes, feeling the cares of the world slip away for just a few moments of quiet contentment.


	9. Once Upon a Closet

NOTE: Rose turned ten the month before this story takes place. It occurs 10 weeks before the events of chapter 2 ("What is Right is Hard to Do").

* * *

The door closed for the final time as the sun began to set, casting shadows of color throughout the sky. Mycroft leaned back against the door, taking a deep breath, letting the sudden quiet of the house envelope him for just a few moments.

"I don't understand why they brought food. Why they _all _brought food. We had food for today, and additionally, we have a cook. Why bring us food?" Sherlock asked, leaning against the door beside his brother.

"It's traditional, Sherlock. You bring food to funerals, not only to feed the funeral guests, but to feed the family, who is presumably too upset by the loss of their loved one to be able to feed itself," Mycroft replied.

"That's a ridiculous tradition," Sherlock decided.

"No one said traditions weren't ridiculous." That comment earned Mycroft a small smile from his brother.

They fell silent for a moment longer. "Where's Rose?"

Sherlock shrugged. "She went upstairs an hour or so ago, when people first began leaving. I think this was all very overwhelming for her."

"We should really find her, make sure she's alright."

"What if she doesn't want to be found?"

Mycroft sighed. "She's Rose, of course she wants to be found. And if she doesn't, that's too bad. I want to make certain she's alright. After I've ascertained that, if she wishes to be alone for a bit, I will pose no objection. But she's Rose, so I doubt that will be the case."

With a nod Sherlock headed upstairs with Mycroft close behind him, in search of their sister.

Rose proved to be a bit difficult to find. She wasn't in her room, the playroom, Mycroft's room, Sherlock's room, the library, Mycroft's office, or any room in the house that they'd searched. A full forty-five minutes passed as they searched for Rose and did not find her.

"Do you think she might be…" Sherlock let his voice trail off, unable to say the words properly, so he'd rather not say them at all.

"No, I don't think so. Go look anyway. I'll look outside," Mycroft decided.

The brothers parted ways and Sherlock headed upstairs, proceeding directly to one room in particular. He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. Mother's room; his mother's room. The room of the woman who was at this very moment dead and buried.

Sherlock took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was quiet and dark. A layer of dust had already begun gathering on the furniture. The faint scent of her lavender perfume clung to the room and its contents. Entering the room fully, he turned on the light. Nothing looked out of place, but that didn't mean Rose wasn't in here.

He checked under the bed and in the adjoining bathroom and finding them empty, had just one place left to look- the closet. Sherlock crossed the room and put his hand on the knob and began to turn it, only to have someone hold the knob firm from the other side.

"Rose?"

No answer.

"Rose, I know you're in there. Let me open the door." After thirty seconds, he could feel that she'd released the knob and Sherlock opened the closet door. The sight that greeted him broke his heart. Wrapped up in a quilt Mother had made her, was his little sister. Her face was red from crying, her nose was running and she was trembling. Rose said nothing and wouldn't even  
look at him.

"Oh sweetheart," Sherlock whispered, kneeling down in front of her. "Come here." He held his arms out for her, expecting her to emerge from the closet for a cuddle.

Only she didn't. Rose began sniffling and threw the quilt over her head, turning away from him.

"Come on now, Rosie. You don't have to cry alone, I'm here." When she made no move to come out of the closet, Sherlock reached for her and was kicked for his troubles.

"No! No! I won't go!" Rose shouted from beneath the quilt.

"Go? Go where? What are you talking about?" Sherlock questioned. "Rose, let me make it better. Tell me what's making you so upset, please." When she continued to ignore him, Sherlock got up from the floor and went in search of Mycroft.

"She's not outside," Mycroft said, greeting Sherlock as he entered the house. "We should call Eleanor, maybe she snuck home with them."

Sherlock shook his head. "She's upstairs, in Mother's closet. Something's _wrong_, she won't come out. She told me she didn't want to go, but wouldn't say where it was she was going."

Mycroft frowned, unable to think of what Rose might mean. Shaking his head, he followed Sherlock back upstairs and into their mother's room. There was no time for nostalgia as both brothers went straight to the closet.

Unwilling to let her cry alone any longer, no matter what the reason, Sherlock went right into the closet to sit beside her. It was a very, very awkward fit, his legs sticking out at odd angles, but at least he was beside her.

Mycroft's eyebrow rose at Sherlock's actions but didn't comment on it, instead choosing to sit just outside of the closet. "Rose? We're here now; Sherlock and I. Tell us what's wrong. It's all right to cry about Mother; about missing her and about everything today. There's nothing wrong with crying and you don't have to hide your tears. Why don't you come out of there so we can sit together? You can bring your blanket if you want."

The brothers shared a look when Rose didn't respond, and Sherlock awkwardly hugged the blanket, hoping he didn't smother Rose in the process. Though that would get her out from under the blanket, he admitted silently to himself.

A moment later the blanket slipped down and Rose's head emerged. She scooted closer to Sherlock and when he picked her up to hold her on his lap, she began clinging to him as if her very life depended upon it.

"There there," Sherlock whispered, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"I don't want to go. It doesn't matter where you send me, I don't want to go," Rose said quietly. Her head was turned so that she was clearly addressing Mycroft with these questions.

Her eldest brother looked puzzled. "What are you on about Rose? Where do you think you're going or being sent?"

"Away. Somewhere away," she responded. "Because Mummy is gone and you won't have time for me anymore. I'll be too much work."

Mycroft was completely stunned by her statements. He couldn't even fathom where she would have got such ideas into her head. He tried to formulate a reassuring response, not missing the way Sherlock held onto her tighter, whispering something into her ear.

"I have no idea where you got the idea that we were too busy for you or would send you away," he began, keeping his voice even but firm. "But wherever that came from, put it out of your mind this minute because you, Rosenwyn Holmes, are not going anywhere. This is your home, we are your family, and that will never, ever change. There is no other place in the world that you belong other than right here with us and here is where you will stay."

"We love you," Sherlock added in a hushed, almost reverent tone. "I for one cannot imagine life without you." He began carding his fingers through her hair, feeling her relax against him.

"I can't either. We're going to continue to take care of you, the same way we always have," Mycroft continued. "Admittedly things will be different now…" He paused, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. "For all of us. But we will work through it together and no matter what, this is your home and you are _not _going anywhere."

"Promise?" Rose asked. "Promise with all your heart? Even when I'm difficult and nasty and don't listen and everything?"

"Well you're hardly nasty," Mycroft said with a chuckle. "In any case, nothing you do will change this. I promise you, Rose, with every fiber of my being, that I will always take care of you."

The little girl was a bit in awe at the vehemence with which Mycroft said those words. They were precisely what she wanted, and needed, to hear and she believed him instantly. A little bit of weight from her heart was lifted away.

"I promise too, with all my heart," Sherlock added, before kissing the top of her head. "You are quite stuck with us, sweetheart, whether you like it or not."

"I like it," she assured him.

"Who put all this nonsense into your head?" Sherlock asked.

Rose pressed her face against his chest. "Don't want to say," she answered, her words a bit muffled.

The brothers shared a look over her head; bullies again. Clearly Mycroft needed to make yet another visit to the school and issue serious threats once more. No one threatened quite like Mycroft. Why was it that nobody bothered to do anything unless he showed up and _made _them do something?

Perhaps it was just time for a new school altogether. Or home school. A vision of Sherlock and Rose blowing up part of the house emerged in his mind's eye. No, definitely _not _home school. The house wouldn't survive it.

"Will you come out of the closet now?" Mycroft asked. He sighed heavily when she shook her head. "Why not?"

"It smells like Mummy in here." Rose pressed her face against Sherlock's chest for a moment. "I know I can't have her back, but I want her back. Nobody can do the things Mummy did and I need her to do them!" Her voice cracked and Rose began sobbing. They were deep, heavy sobs, full of emotion that shook her slight shoulders and sounded so very despondent.

Immediately Sherlock held her tighter, so tight he thought she might break. The sound of her desperate sobs brought tears to Sherlock's eyes and he had to close his eyes to keep them from falling. He tried to rock her a bit, but since they were in a closet, that was a bit hard to do, though he tried just the same.

Mycroft gestured for Sherlock to move over, despite the fact that there was very little space to move. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock complied, moving around a bit to make space for Mycroft. By the time Mycroft was in the closet Sherlock was certain they made a very odd picture; two tall, lanky men and their legs sticking out of the closet, clothes hanging just barely above their heads. Thank god the closet was tall.

"If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll strangle you," Mycroft whispered in Sherlock's ear. God only knew what would happen if it became known that he'd crawled inside a closet for some sort of very awkward family cuddle. He immediately began rubbing Rose's back as she sobbed.

There was no need for words at that moment so neither brother said any. Rose just needed to know they were there for her, that she wasn't alone, and be given the chance to cry all the tears she so bravely held back all day. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her sobs died down to sniffles and Rose turned her head away from Sherlock's chest, resting her cheek against it instead.

"Feel a little better?" Mycroft asked, looking at her with concern. He was pleased when she nodded just a bit. "Sometimes it's helpful to have a good cry. Don't think you have to be brave and hide when you're sad. Promise me you won't."

"Promise," she whispered.

"What was it that made you so upset before?" Sherlock asked. "We're not Mummy, but we'll try our best, whatever it is."

"No one will rub my tummy anymore when I get sick. Mummy always did that and made me feel better," Rose explained softly.

Well that wasn't a hard one to solve! Sherlock tipped her head up to look at him. "I do believe I'm plenty capable of rubbing tummies when the occasion calls for it," he replied in a serious tone. "If you want me to."

Rose nodded. "It always makes me feel better, every time."

"Then I'll do it, every time," he promised. "What else?"

"Who is going to do my hair for school? Mummy always did my hair for school, in braids most of the time," the little girl explained. "I can do my hair sometimes, well, lots of times, but I can't French braid."

"I think Sherlock and I can manage that," Mycroft offered. "Depending upon who is here on a given morning. Would that be alright if we tried?"

"I don't want to look silly," the little girl told him seriously. "If you do it, you have to do it right."

"We'll manage," Mycroft promised. "No one will let you leave the house looking silly."

That answer seemed to satisfy Rose and she nodded before resting her head against Sherlock's chest once more.

"What else?" Sherlock prompted. "Anything else you can think of that Mycroft and I need to do?"

"I can't think of anything. But I'll let you know, okay?"

Sherlock nodded and kissed the top of her head. "That sounds just fine. It'll take some adjusting, but we'll work it out together, I promise."

"I do have a question though," Rose said, addressing both brothers. "Am… am I an orphan now? That's a terrible word I think, orphan. It just sounds sad."

"If we're going strictly by definition then yes, you are, because both your parents are dead," Sherlock answered.

Rose began sniffling once more and Mycroft immediately glared at his brother. As smart as Sherlock was, at times he could be incredibly daft!

Sherlock, however, wasn't finished and opened his mouth to continue. "But this world doesn't run strictly by definitions, especially when it comes to family. There are all sorts of families in the world, aren't there?" He looked down at her with a little smile, hoping to encourage her to answer.

Rose nodded. "Lots of kinds of families. Like Lillian at school, she has two mummies."

He smiled a bit bigger. "That's a very good example. Families come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and while you don't have parents, you have us. Mycroft and I. You can't be an orphan if you have two brothers to bring you up."

"That's true I suppose. And we've always been an odd sort, us Holmeses," Rose admitted.

Mycroft chuckled. "That's very true. It just wouldn't do for us to be ordinary." He felt a rush of relief when she gave him a smile.

"So you see, you aren't an orphan, definition be damned," Sherlock told her firmly. "Because you have us and we'll do our very best for you."

"You two always know all the answers. I hope I'm as smart when I'm all grown up," Rose decided.

"Do you think we could vacate the closet now?" Mycroft asked. "It's feeling a bit tight in here. Are you ready to get out?"

"I guess so," she agreed. "But we're not done cuddling. Just so you're aware."

Mycroft gave her a bit of a smile. "Duly noted." He extricated himself from the closet, which was about as easy as it had been to get in.

"Take the child," Sherlock ordered. "I can't hold her and get up."

Rose giggled just a bit. "The child can get up on her own," she quipped. Before doing so, she kissed Sherlock's cheek and crawled out of the blanket, taking it with her as she exited the closet.

A few hours later the three Holmes siblings were gathered in the sitting room watching an old film on television. When the credits began rolling, Mycroft looked at the clock and saw it was well past Rose's usual bedtime.

"And that is our last film this evening. It's time for little girls to be in bed," he announced.

Rose made a whining noise. "But the next film is _The Lodger_ and that's my very favorite!"

"Don't bother pouting about it, I'm immune; you can thank Sherlock for that," Mycroft told her. "It can't possibly be your favorite, unless every film you watch is your very favorite, because you've said that already tonight."

"That was my favorite drama. This is my favorite silent film," the little girl countered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Mycroft's right; about bedtime, not the pouting," he clarified. "Who do you want to tuck you in?"

"You," Rose decided. She scooted over and helped herself to Mycroft's lap. "Good night My. I love you," she whispered, hugging him tightly.

"I love you too," he murmured, kissing her cheek. "Sleep sweet."

Sherlock stood up and scooped her up into his arms.

"I can walk you know," Rose told him, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I know. But I like carrying you. You're small," Sherlock replied.

"Brilliant deduction," she giggled before sobering. "Sherlock, is it okay to laugh? Are we allowed to? Is it terrible to laugh when Mummy is gone? Can we have lots of fun still, or not anymore?"

Sherlock pulled the bed clothes back before depositing her gently on the bed. "That, my dear sister, is a very good question," he began. When she crawled under the covers he sat down beside her. "Mother wouldn't want us to be sad for her. She'd want us to remember her, always, but I don't think she'd like it very much if we stopped laughing and having fun. I think that would actually make her very sad, to think we stopped doing those things."

"Mummy did like to smile and laugh," Rose added. "Even when she didn't feel well, she had a smile. So I think you're right and I'm glad of that. I like having fun and being silly, but I would've given it all up, for Mummy, if that was the right thing to do."

"You are a very special little girl Rose," Sherlock said quietly. "A very special and good girl. Mummy was so proud of you, do you know that? She loved you so very much and was so proud of how smart you are, how good you are, what a beautiful dancer you are. So very, very proud of her baby. I hope you know that."

Tears gathered in Rose's bright blue eyes and she tried to blink them away. Her efforts failed miserably and the tears began silently sliding down her cheeks.

Sherlock immediately felt like an arse. "I'm sorry Rosie, I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to upset you sweetheart," he murmured. "I… I thought you'd want to know and be reassured."

She nodded and sniffled. "I did and I'm glad you said it," Rose told him sincerely. She swiped away her tears with her hands. "Sherlock, I'm scared and don't want to be alone. Will you stay until I go to sleep?"

"Come here," Sherlock murmured, pulling her into his arms. He began rocking her gently, stroking her hair with one hand. "There's nothing to be scared of," he soothed. "Would you feel better if you slept in my room again?"

Rose nodded, confirming she would.

He picked up her treasured stuffed bear and handed it to her before he stood up with her in his arms. Sherlock kissed the top of her head and, after stopping to turn off the light, carried her into his room. "Crawl under the covers, I'll be right back."

"Everything alright?" Mycroft asked when Sherlock came back into the sitting room.

"Not really, no, but it will be. She's going to sleep in my room tonight, I just wanted to let you know so you didn't have a heart attack when you try to peek in on her before you turn in," Sherlock admitted.

Just the tiniest bit of pink appeared on Mycroft's cheeks. He hadn't been aware Sherlock knew of that habit. "It's a very bad precedent to set. She cannot spend every night in your room or-"

"I don't want to hear it Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted. "She's feeling vulnerable and I'm going to do everything I can to make her feel better. That's my job; _our _job. It won't become a nightly habit, whatever you may think. Good night."

Mycroft scowled at his retreating brother's back.

"Sherlock? Are you coming?" Rose called. She gave him a little smile when he entered the room.

"I'm going to change, hold on," he said with a smile. He disappeared into the bathroom with his pajama pants and t-shirt and changed, returning to his room after he put his clothes in the laundry basket.

"Sherlock?"

"What?" he asked, sitting down on the bed.

"I love you. I'm glad you're here. I'm glad I've got you," Rose whispered.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," Sherlock told her. "And I love you too. Under the covers now."

She did as he asked, burrowing under the covers with Teddy as Sherlock settled back against the headboard. "Comfy?" he asked and smiled when she nodded. "Need anything else?"

"Just cuddles."

Sherlock gave her an outraged look. "Cuddles? _Cuddles_? Hmm, you don't ask for much, do you? Would you like the crown jewels as well? A trip to the south of France?"

Rose pretended to consider the matter seriously for a moment. "No, the queen better keep her jewels; after all I like her. Don't want to travel either. Just cuddles."

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well I suppose, just this once." Sherlock wrapped an arm around her when she cuddled up against his side and kissed the top of her head. "Now close your eyes and go to sleep Rose. It's very late and Mycroft will scold us both if you aren't asleep soon." Sherlock reached over to shut off the lamp beside the bed.

Sherlock began humming, holding her close, and before long began singing quietly. "Come, sweetheart mine. Don't you sit and pine. Tell me of the cares that make you feel so blue…"

* * *

Three days later, Rose was all set to return to school. Her lunch was packed, her backpack was ready and waiting by the door, she was dressed and had her shoes on. Only one thing remained and it was an important thing.

She knocked loudly on Mycroft's study door before opening it. When he glared at her, she waved the comb and hair ribbon at him. Rolling his eyes, he waved her into the office and immediately began speaking in Italian rather than English. Balancing the phone on one hunched up shoulder he attempted to continue the conversation while braiding Rose's hair.

When Mycroft finished with her hair he put his caller on hold and turned Rose around to look at him. "Have a lovely day my dear," he said sincerely. "Be certain to call my office if you need anything at all. Be a good girl for me." When she threw her arms around him, he gave her a hug and kissed her forehead before returning to his phone call.

Rose shut the door tightly behind her and headed for the entry way to get her coat and hat.

"There you are!" Sherlock called from the stairs. "I was looking for you and…." His voice trailed off and he gave her a strange look.

"What? Do I have something on me?" Rose asked, looking down at her clothes.

"Did you do your hair?"

She shook her head. "No, Mycroft did. Why?"

"Hmm. Bit not good I'm afraid," Sherlock said with a sigh. "Rather crooked. I'm sure he did his best but clearly braiding is not his forte. Best let me do that from now on."

Rose's mouth dropped open. "You mean there's things My isn't good at?"

"Don't sound so astonished Rose. He's human just like the rest of us," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. "Get your comb so I can fix your hair. I think you might have to make do with a pony tail today or we're going to be late." When she returned with her comb, Sherlock undid the crooked braid and put her hair up in a pony.

"Rose, why are you still here?" Mycroft asked as he exited his study.

"Because braiding isn't your forte," she responded. "Sherlock says. It was crooked, so he had to fix it. But we're leaving now. Bye My!" Rose gave him a wave before heading out the door.

Sherlock gave his brother a smug look before following Rose out the door. There was nothing as sweet as showing up Mycroft. This was going to be a brilliant day!


	10. Flora and Fauna Part I

NOTE: This was going to be a self-contained story, but it quickly grew a mind of its own, and oh how it grew! I've split it up into two parts. Part two will be up within the next few days. Warning!—Seriously epic amounts of fluff.

* * *

It was springtime. _Finally_. There were months when it felt as though London would never be warm again, or that the little bits of snow they got would melt for the final time. Sherlock couldn't even begin to imagine how people in other parts of the world managed their winter season: so much snow; warnings for people not to leave their homes or they might lose a finger or nose to frostbite. Whatever had those silly people been thinking when they abandoned England for a new world? And after the first winter, why didn't they come back? Clearly, they were imbeciles.

But, it was springtime once again! Very much springtime in fact as people shed their heavy coats for light sweaters and flowers were blooming bright and cheerful. Sherlock had plans for this spring, namely to thoroughly educate his 28 month old baby sister about the outdoor world.

Many of his plans revolved around teaching little Rose things and this plan, at least, wasn't one that would make Mother or Mycroft shout at him. He'd tried to include her in a chemistry experiment recently and just when all the fun bits of it were happening, Mother had come home and screamed about her baby and chemicals and what was he thinking?

Sometimes Mother didn't understand _anything_.

Mycroft, of course, had to add his own admonishment and as per usual, he did it while cuddling Rose. Sherlock was completely convinced that Mycroft only scolded him while holding the baby so that Sherlock couldn't yell at him. Yelling made the baby cry and Sherlock didn't like to see Rose cry, especially if he was the one to upset her.

Even better than the fact that it was springtime, though, was the fact they were having a weekend holiday at their country house. That was the best place to teach Rose about plants and bugs and birds and all those things. Mother had the best garden at the country house too. He could even show Rose which plants she could eat and which ones she couldn't. It was going to be a great adventure for his baby sister.

If only she didn't need to sleep so much, then he wouldn't have to wait until morning!

* * *

"Hmm, don't you look cheerful," Mycroft mused as he helped Rose dress for the day.

"Sushine," Rose told him, pointing at her yellow and white checked dress.

"Yes, you look like sunshine," he agreed. "Sunshine, don't forget the 'n' poppet," he responded, giving her a smile.

"Shoe?" Rose wriggled as he buttoned her up in the back where her little arms couldn't reach.

"Yes, shoes. Definitely shoes," Mycroft chuckled. "Sit down, I'll help." He breathed a sigh of relief when Rose plopped down on the floor. Yesterday she'd insisted on putting her own shoes on, and trying to tie the laces. When she hadn't succeeded, she'd promptly thrown the shoes at him and was then escorted to the naughty chair for time out.

"You do. Pease?" Rose commented, sticking her foot out in the air. She giggled when he tickled it just a bit before slipping her sneaker on.

"That's very nice poppet. It's a lovely girl to be cooperative for me. I appreciate that."

"Say tay you?"

"Yes, thank you." He hurriedly tied the laces and put her other shoe on before he scooped her up. Mycroft couldn't help but smile when she snuggled close, her curly hair brushing against his neck.

"Sh'ock!" Rose screeched when they entered the kitchen and saw her other brother.

"_No _Rose," Mycroft scolded, giving her a serious look. "Inside voice. We're inside, understand?"

Rose frowned and put her thumb in her mouth.

Sherlock gave Mycroft a nasty look before stealing the baby away, cuddling her close. "Morning Rose," he whispered.

"Morning Sh'ock," the little girl murmured. "Hungee. Wan food. Pease?"

"Put her in the highchair Sherlock and I'll make her some breakfast. Have you eaten?" Mycroft asked. "And have you seen Mother yet?"

"No, I think she's still in bed. I'll pass on breakfast," Sherlock responded as he buckled Rose into her seat.

Minutes later, Rose had toast and banana slices on her plate and was far more interested in smashing the bananas before putting them into her mouth.

"We don't play with food. You're making a huge mess. Do you want a bath already?" Mycroft asked, trying desperately to keep her somewhat clean.

"No! No bath! No!" Rose answered. She scowled and shook her head before promptly smashing a banana.

"Then eat like a human being and not like a little monster, if you please!"

"Mycroft you're no fun at all. Aren't you glad you have me Rose?" Sherlock asked, giving her a silly grin.

The toddler nodded. "Yes. Love Sh'ock," she said, blowing him a kiss and flinging mashed banana on the table.

"She loves me more," Sherlock decided. "Because I'm fun."

"She's a toddler and I don't think she loves anyone more than anyone else. She loves whoever is paying attention to her at the moment, so long as she's enjoying herself," Mycroft responded.

"Love e-body," Rose announced before cramming some toast in her mouth.

"Everybody," Sherlock correct before sounding it out for her. "Ev-er-e-buddy."

"Evey-body?"

Sherlock grinned. "You're such a brilliant girl. Try once more. Ev-er-e-buddy."

Rose tried to respond but merely spit out toast crumbs instead.

"Rose, really! Have some decorum if you please," Mycroft requested, shaking his head. When she stared at him, looking completely confused, he started to laugh despite his best efforts. Sometimes it was very hard not to laugh at the things she did!

"Chew first Rose. Then say it again," Sherlock encouraged. He went so far as to pretend to chew with her, which Rose seemed to enjoy.

Upon swallowing, Rose scrunched up her nose as she concentrated to repeat the word properly. "Everybody," she said very slowly. "Good?"

The brothers clapped and sang her praises, making Rose squeal in delight and clap along with them.

"Well, what a very lovely way to wake up," Maud commented as she entered the kitchen. "All my babies playing so nicely together."

"_Mother,_" Sherlock and Mycroft protested in unison. They were, of course, ignored by Maud, who would always see all of them as her babies, no matter how old they were.

"Mummy!" Rose called. "Banana; I mash." She smashed another banana, grinning delightedly at her mother before shoving it in her mouth, much to Maud's amusement.

"For a moment, she was reaching ever closer towards being a civilized human being," Mycroft grumbled. "Then you go and laugh and say 'Silly baby'. You're very unhelpful Mother."

"She's just a baby Myc, even you played with your food when you were a toddler," Maud replied indulgently.

"Hmm. Well, I'm going to work in my study for a while," he decided.

"Bye My! Bye!" Rose called out, waving her chubby hand at him. She received a smile in return before Mycroft disappeared from the room.

* * *

Three hours later, Mycroft emerged from his study with the headache to end all headaches. Did people actually vote for the imbeciles he was forced to deal with every day? If they did, what precisely did that tell him about the people doing the voting? Nothing good, that's for certain.

The house was unusually quiet and he found it a bit unnerving. Mycroft was so used to hearing Rose, who tended to be rather boisterous, that it was very odd to not hear her at all.

"Did Rose go down for a nap already?" he asked his mother when he wandered into the kitchen.

Maud shook her head and pointed out the window. Sherlock and Rose were sitting together at the edge of the large kitchen garden, the little girl watching with wide blue eyes as Sherlock animatedly explained something to her.

"They've been out there for two hours," she said with a smile. "He's teaching her about plants. They've tasted some as well."

"He's teaching her to eat plants? Is that really a good idea?" Mycroft mused.

"Sherlock knows his way around the kitchen garden just fine. A little mint and lemongrass and such won't hurt either of them a bit."

"Did you like that one?" Sherlock asked, watching Rose's reactions carefully. "I like that one quite a lot. Mother makes tea out of it."

She nodded and reached for another sample of the plant when something else caught her eye. "Lay-bug," Rose told her brother pointing to it.

"Yes, that's a ladybug. Just like you have in your room at home, only smaller and of course more anatomically correct, since that one is real," Sherlock explained. He watched curiously as Rose reached out her hand and let the ladybug climb on it.

Rose's other hand picked it up and she brought the bug closer to her mouth. "Eat?"

"It's an insect," Sherlock warned. "They don't taste very well, but if you want to try it, go ahead. This might be your very first experiment Rose! Isn't that great?"

"'priment," she echoed before putting the bug in her mouth. Rose took a bite, made a horrible face, spit the bug out and proceeded to cough.

"I did warn you that they don't taste well, but at least you won't need to do that again. You have the data now!"

"Icky. Icky Sh'ock," she whined, wiping at her mouth with her hands.

"Poor baby. I'll go get you some juice to make the taste go away," he offered before hurrying inside.

"Teaching her to bugs, little brother?" Mycroft inquired. "That's a bit pedestrian even for you. Surely there are other things of value you could teach her."

"She needed the data. Rose was conducting her first experiment," the thirteen year old replied with all the indignation of a young teenager.

"You will try to avoid poisoning her, I assume?"

"You're such a git Mycroft! Of course I won't let her get poisoned! For heaven's sakes you're such a drama queen. She's not just your sister you know!"

"Boys, boys, settle down," Maud scolded, entering the kitchen once again. "Sherlock, where's Rose?"

"Outside. I'm bringing her juice," he explained, holding up a sippy cup.

"Sherlock! You cannot leave her outside by herself!" Maud exclaimed. "Whatever were you thinking?" She raced to the nearest window and struggled not to laugh as she watched Rose rolling around on the lawn. "Go give her the juice and don't ever leave her alone like that again! She's just a baby and it's not safe."

"She's not stupid. Rose knows precisely what she's doing, she's a very brilliant girl," Sherlock grumbled as he went back outside. "Rosie! Juice!" he called.

The toddler, stopped mid-roll and looked up at the sound of Sherlock's voice. Scrambling to her feet, Rose ran over as fast as her little legs could take her, immediately accepting the sippy cup of juice.

Sherlock waited until she finished and took the cup back. "What do you say, Rose? Do you remember?"

"Tay you Sh'ock," she responded, giving him a bright smile. "I roll, lots fun. Get dirty. Fun! You play too, pease?" Rose grabbed onto his hand and tried to drag him out into the yard again to continue playing.

Back inside the kitchen, Maud smiled as she watched her children roll around in the grass. "They're so sweet, aren't they?"

"They're something. She certainly does love to follow him around," Mycroft admitted.

"Don't be jealous Mycroft!" Maud laughed. "She loves her big brother My just as much as she loves Sherlock."

Mycroft gave his mother a withering look. "I never said a word about being jealous. That would be very dull and ordinary; more Sherlock's avenue of thinking than mine. Him and his 'I'm the fun brother.' Someone's got to raise her properly and it certainly isn't him!"

Maud shook her head. "He loves her and that's the most important part. Leave the raising to you and I. I wish your father could be here to see her. Rose is so much more talkative than when he passed away and it's only been a few months. I see so much of him in her sometimes."

Her eldest son nodded, taking a moment before he could respond verbally. "I do as well. In those brief moments of calm, when she's cuddled up with someone and we're all around. That little look on her face I can't even describe, but it reminds me of how peaceful and happy Father always was to just… be. Enjoy the quiet, the family."

She smiled. "That's precisely it," she agreed. "I know you're not one for sentiment, Mycroft-"

"Then let us skip it," Mycroft interrupted.

"I appreciate everything you do, Mikey. Before and after your father passed away," she continued on. "We're lucky to have you, all of us, even Sherlock."

"Don't tell him that," Mycroft chuckled. "And… you're welcome. Father made me promise, you know."

Maud gave him a thoughtful look. "No, I didn't know. What did he make you promise?"

_Seven Months Prior_

It was a Saturday night and though it was the weekend, there was no resting for Mycroft, or so it seemed to him. He had just finished a call with another world leader, wondering how it was possible that an entire nation deemed that particular man to be its leader. That election, he couldn't help but think, was entirely fixed.

A knock on his study door shifted his attention and he called for whomever was on the other side to enter.

"I thought you could use some tea," William Holmes said to his eldest son. "Are you busy?"

"Tea would be excellent, thank you Father," Mycroft responded, waving the man in. "For the moment I'm not busy and I'm hoping it stays that way. Today's crisis has been averted at any rate."

William placed a cup of tea on Mycroft's desk and took his own cup to a chair. "I want to talk to you about something important," he said gravely.

His tone was odd, at least to Mycroft's ears. His father was rarely so grave when he spoke and was typically the most light hearted of the lot of them. Picking up his tea, Mycroft went to sit closer to his father.

"I need you to promise me something," William began. "I won't always be around for you children- no, don't look like that, there's nothing wrong with me or some sort of data or what have you that you've missed. But the truth is, I won't always be here and while I understand this is a great responsibility, perhaps a burden even, to put upon on your shoulders I'm going to do it."

For once in his life, Mycroft didn't snap at his father to just spit it out already and stop being so bloody sentimental. This time, he just listened.

"Promise me that you'll always take care of my girls. That you'll keep being such a wonderful stand-in to my princess and that you'll take care of your mother," William requested.

"You're certain there's nothing I need to be aware of, Father?" Mycroft asked, an eyebrow quirked.

"No, nothing at all. Rose has changed a lot of things; I find myself worrying about things I wouldn't have in the past, or at least hadn't fretted over in quite some time, since you and Sherlock are older," William confessed.

Mycroft nodded, looking thoughtful. "Of course I will, Father. They'll always be looked after, but it'll be quite some time before you leave this world, I'm sure. But in any case, just to put your mind at ease, I give you my word that I'll take care of Mother and Rose."

"Sherlock too; try and keep him out of trouble."

"I suppose him too," Mycroft said with a long-suffering sigh.

"And Mycroft?" William continued. "Try not to let this brilliant job of yours eat away at you. You're going to have a long, bright career, but it will eat you alive if you don't find something to be happy about, or look forward to, each day."

_Present_

"Do you have something, Myc, that you look forward to each day?" Maud asked when her son finished recalling the conversation.

"I already had by that point," he admitted with a shrug. "Rose is a rather irresistible little thing. I've found myself much more attached to her than I'd originally anticipated. There's days that she's the only thing in the world that makes sense. Why I, and others, keep this ridiculous world from blowing itself to pieces."

"Little ones have a way of doing that, make you reevaluate things in that way," Maud told him with a smile. She turned to look out the window at her little ones once more. "Oh bless. SHERLOCK!" Maud yelled out the window. "There's no need to create mud puddles for Baby! No, I don't care if it's an experiment! Another time, I promise! No! No Rose!"

She and Mycroft watched in sheer exasperation as Rose dived into the nearest mud puddle on her tummy, then rolled over, giggling crazily.

"She's fine Mother!" Sherlock called. "See? She likes it! Laughter! We're gathering data!" He promptly picked Rose up, tossed her in the air, caught her, and went into the mud puddle himself.

Rose, already dripping in it, sat on his chest and rubbed her muddy hands on his face. "Data," she said. "Gooey." Her attention was ripped away from her brother's face when she saw something colorful come near them.

"BUFFLY!" she squealed. Rose rolled off Sherlock's chest, got to her feet, and proceeded to chase the butterfly. "Wan buffly! Sh'ock! Wan buffly! WAN BUFFLY! HERE BUFFLY! BUFFLY!"

Inside the house, Mycroft shook his head at Rose's screeching and turned away from the window. "Mother, I have a feeling it's going to be a very long weekend. Let's hope the house is still standing when it's over."

* * *

Early that evening, after supper had been made and the dishes, cleaned, the family sat out in the backyard, talking and looking up at the stars as they began appearing in the sky.

"Bye bye sun," Rose murmured. "Hi moon." She was already dressed for bed, in a little footed sleeper, snuggled up in Mycroft's arms. It was one of her favorite places in the whole world!

"My poppet's had a busy day, haven't you?" Mycroft asked, smiling as she rested her head on his chest.

"Bee day," she agreed. "Buffly an mud with Sh'ock. All day." Rose yawned and struggled to keep her eyes open.

"Aw, is Mummy's Baby sleepy?" Maud questioned, looking over at her children.

"It's little wonder with all that running and shouting and fresh air," Sherlock commented. "That makes anyone her age sleepy. When you aren't home Mother, Mycroft makes me play her all out of energy."

Maud chuckled. "Well, that serves a dual purpose, sweetheart. It makes both of you sleepy, which makes it much easier for Myc to watch you both."

Sherlock looked very disgruntled that Mycroft wasn't scolded for attempting to run he and Rose ragged behind Mother's back. He sighed and settled back against his chair. "Bored. I'm bored Mother. Astronomy is unimportant and I want you to know I'll delete all this from my mind palace promptly."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Sherlock is a silly boy," he whispered to Rose. "Try to be more like me, hm? I'm the smart one, after all." Rose merely blinked owlishly at him in response.

"Do you want me to put her to bed, Mikey?"

The eldest Holmes child shook his head. "No, I'll do it. Say goodnight to Mother and Sherlock Rose," he prompted the toddler. Rose dutifully waved and blew kisses before closing her eyes once more. "Oh yes, you're a very tired girl Rose," he chuckled. There was no way she'd make it for a story, so it was right into bed with her!

"Do you like your new bed?" he asked, tucking Rose into her 'big girl' toddler bed. They'd purchased it and brought it with for the weekend, since Sherlock's toddler bed had long since disappeared. It only made sense to have one at each house for her.

"Big bed. I big," Rose told him. "Teddy?" She looked around for her beloved bear and smiled when she spotted it on her pillow.

"We put Teddy on your pillow this morning, remember? When we made your bed," Mycroft reminded her. He plucked it up off her pillow and handed it to her. "Hold Teddy tight and I'll tuck you under the covers." He smiled as Rose burrowed under the bed covers when he tried to tuck them around her. "Sleep sweet poppet," he said quietly. "I'll see you in the morning." Mycroft kissed her cheek and gave Teddy's head a pat.

"No! My! No!" the toddler cried out the moment he got up to leave. "Nooooooooooo!"

Her beleaguered brother sighed and sat down beside her bed. "Alright, I'll stay until you fall asleep."

"Yes," she murmured. "Nigh-night. Love you." Within just a few moments, Rose was fast asleep.

* * *

Saturday morning dawned bright and early and everyone in the house was still asleep. Everyone except the littlest Holmes. Leaving her warm bed behind, Rose and Teddy toddled off down the hall and pushed open Mycroft's bedroom door. Immediately she went to the bed and grunted and groaned and squirmed as she tried to climb up on top of it. Feeling frustrated, Rose threw Teddy on the bed first- managing to promptly smack Mycroft in the face- and with both hands finally made it.

"What-" Mycroft's exclamation died on his lips as he spotted his baby sister. "Should have known. It's six in the morning Rose. Can't you go back to bed and let us sleep?"

"No," she said seriously, grabbing up Teddy to hold him tight. "I 'wake. Wan play. Pease, My? Play ouside?"

"Outside. Out. Don't forget the 't'," Mycroft corrected. "And it's far too early to play outside. Go bother Sherlock, he's awake I'm sure. Make him play with you."

Rose nodded, her shiny black curls bobbing. "Okay." After Mycroft helped her down from the bed, she toddled out of the room and into Sherlock's.

"Already Rosie?" Sherlock commented groggily. "I'm still sleeping."

"Everybody seeping?" Rose asked with a frown. That wasn't any fun! Didn't they know the sun was up and it was shining?

"Yes; come on, you can sleep with me," he offered. With a squeal she tossed Teddy onto the bed and accepted Sherlock's help getting onto the bed and cuddled close under the covers. Sherlock dutifully kissed her head, and Teddy's when she shoved the bear in his face, and the duo fell asleep.

* * *

Despite Rose's early morning visits, the family enjoyed a leisurely Saturday morning, lounging about until after a late breakfast before they finally dressed for the day.

"I'm going to drive into town dears and get something delicious for our supper," Maud announced when they'd all assembled once more. "Both of you please watch Rose very closely. Anyone want anything special while I'm out?"

"Cake!" Rose decided, giving her mother a grin. "Wan cake pease!"

"Nice job Mycroft," Sherlock told his brother. "Going to make her fat too?"

"Oh Sherlock, that's enough," Maud scolded, cutting off Mycroft's response. "Your brother is not overweight and it's unkind to tease him. Everyone has their favorite food."

"I don't," Sherlock responded. "I don't have any favorites. Food is really unnecessary. Bodies are merely transport."

Maud threw up her hands, dismissing the matter, and headed out to the car.

"I need to make some calls for work. I trust you can manage to watch Rose on your own?" Mycroft asked, giving Sherlock a _look_.

"I'm thirteen, of _course _I can watch her. She's only two," the younger boy said, rolling his eyes. "Come on Rosie, we'll have fun, because I'm the fun brother. Right?"

"Yes! Sh'ock fun!" Rose agreed, toddling after him. When Sherlock stopped, she let him take her hand, and the two headed out into the front yard to play.

"Don't damage the house, Sherlock Holmes, and God help you if she gets hurt!" Mycroft called after them.

Sherlock threw his brother a scowl. "Shut up!"

"Sh-up!" Rose parroted.

Sherlock looked down at his little sister. "No, that's not nice to say. You'll get in trouble if you say it. You shouldn't copy me so often," he suggested. It was unlikely she'd listen but at least he could claim to have spoken to her about it!

* * *

As it turned out, however, it wasn't Mycroft that Sherlock needed to worry about. It was his mother! Two hours later, Maud returned home with the groceries and a few other things she'd picked up and brought the bags into the kitchen. The house was quiet, but she wasn't overly concerned about it, knowing one of her boys was watching Rose.

Only… they weren't!

Maud glanced out the window into the backyard and let out a groan. Her two year old was alone, covered in mud, and even appeared to be _eating _it. "Oh baby! Rose my love, that's so icky!" Maud called as she hurried outside. "Darling, don't eat the mud. Whatever are you doing? And where are your brothers?"

"Mud pie, yum. Mummy wan?" she asked, innocently offering a handful of mud to her mother.

The woman sighed heavily, trying to keep exasperation with her middle child out of her tone as she addressed her littlest. "No darling, but that's very lovely to share. Very good girl," Maud praised. "But you are also a very messy little girl. You will need a bath and your brother needs a smacking and I cannot be in two places at once."

Another sigh escaped the woman's lips as Rose looked up at her, uncomprehending of the situation at large. "MYCROFT! MYCROFT COME INTO THE YARD PLEASE!" she shouted.

Fearing the worst, Mycroft came thundering down the stairs and out into the backyard, where he stopped short a few feet shy of the pile of mud he gathered was one Rosenwyn Holmes. He stared at the toddler before turning to look at his mother. "I have no words," Mycroft decided.

"I have a few words, but they aren't for you," Maud admitted. "Can you attempt to clean Rose off a bit and then give her a bath? Sherlock and I need to have a very serious talk about what it means to supervise the baby."

Mycroft sighed. "Would you rather I took care of that?"

Maud shook her head. "Oh no, I'll handle it. He's going to be a very sorry boy when I get my hands on him!"

"What's all the shouting?" the teenager in question asked, arriving on the scene. He was covered in netting and some sort of odd suit that Maud couldn't quite place.

"I was trying to catch some bees and part of their honeycomb so that we could raise some bees! There's everything still from when Father and I did that last summer. Wouldn't that be wonderful for Rose? She won't even need to go to school, wait and see Mother, she'll be at Oxford or somewhere or another before she's even ten!"

Sherlock looked and sounded so excited about the whole thing that for just a brief second, it was difficult for Maud to be angry with him. Nor did she miss his idea of allowing Rose to skip school, which spoke volumes about how miserable Sherlock himself was at his own, despite the fact he no longer resided at the school itself.

"Bee? Wan bee Sh'ock, wan see bee," Rose decided, struggling to get up out of her personal mudbath.

That was just the reminder Maud needed to keep her displeasure at Sherlock in mind. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Did we not just talk about this yesterday? I very clearly recall that I told you not to leave Rose in the yard alone. It's too dangerous, she could leave the yard and wander into the woods or into the road and be run over. There's a million different things that could happen and she could be terribly, terribly hurt!"

The teenager sighed heavily and shook his head. "You worry incessantly for no reason at all. I talked with Rose and we came to an understanding. She knows she can't leave the yard and I wasn't all that far away. I would have heard her if she'd cried out or something. _Must _you be so dramatic Mother?"

That right there was as much as she was going to take of her son's sass. Maud closed the distance between them, took a firm hold of one arm, raised her hand and brought it down sharply across the seat of his trousers.

"_Mother!_" Sherlock exclaimed, looking completely scandalized.

"Don't you Mother me young man. You are in very serious trouble and we are going to have a very serious talk about it inside, in your room," Maud told him. "March yourself upstairs this very minute!"

"I'm too old to spank Mother, truly. It's too juvenile and again, I think you're overreacting it's—OW!" Sherlock howled as he was smacked again. "Nooooo Mother don't pull my ear! Ow that hurts!" he whined as Maud escorted him back into the house, leaving Mycroft to deal with the mud covered toddler.

* * *

NOTE 2: Here's where we chant "Sherlock's gonna get it! Sherlock's gonna get it!"


	11. Flora and Fauna Part II

_"Don't you Mother me young man. You are in very serious trouble and we are going to have a very serious talk about it inside, in your room," Maud told him. "March yourself upstairs this very minute!"_

_"I'm too old to spank Mother, truly. It's too juvenile and again, I think you're overreacting it's—OW!" Sherlock howled as he was smacked again. "Nooooo Mother don't pull my ear! Ow that hurts!" he whined as Maud escorted him back into the house, leaving Mycroft to deal with the mud covered toddler._

* * *

"You, my dear, are most definitely a Holmes," Mycroft told his sister with a sigh. "When you do something, you do it very thoroughly."

"Mummy? Where Mummy go? Sh'ock yell," Rose said, looking at up him with the most adorable mud-streaked face. "Why?"

"Oh, are we entering that stage now?"

"Stay?" the little girl repeated. "What stay?"

"Stage. With a 'g'," her brother corrected. "Never mind about that now, and don't worry about Sherlock either. He's getting precisely what he deserves for being an utter fool."

Rose scrunched up her nose. "Foo? F-O-O-L," she said, sounding it out. When it made just the right sound to her ears, she clapped her hands, spattering mud onto the grass.

"There's nothing for it, I'll have to hose you down. It'll be cold, but I'll be gentle with it. You can't go into the house like this," Mycroft decided. "Stay right where you are poppet."

While one little Holmes was soon squealing with delight as she was hosed off, another Holmes inside the house was making similar noises, but his were most definitely those of displeasure.

"Mother! Mother! No!" Sherlock protested as he was led by his ear all the way upstairs and into his room.

"Yes, Sherlock, _yes. _Rose could have been very hurt. Being a big brother comes with responsibilities, and if you cannot watch her sufficiently, you must tell us. You cannot be supervising her when you're nowhere near her. She's just a baby and cannot be alone like that. She doesn't know what is safe and what isn't yet, and _that_,young man, is why you are getting a soundly smacked bottom!"

Finishing her lecture, Maud sat on Sherlock's bed and gave him an expectant look. "Trousers and pants down; quickly now. Down and over my knee."

"Mother, let's be reasonable about this," Sherlock requested, his hands going behind him to protect his backside.

"Oh, I'm being quite reasonable, I promise you," she responded. "I doubt it escaped your notice that we did not make a detour into my room for the hairbrush. Would you like me to get it now, or are you going to do as you're told and I'll use my hand?"

"That is very reasonable," Sherlock decided. He quickly bared his behind, his face turning a bit red, and went across his mother's knees.

Maud adjusted Sherlock so that his bottom was properly in position for spanking. With his upper torso resting on the bed, he'd be reasonably comfortable- or rather, part of him would be. She wrapped an arm around his waist and raised her right hand, bringing it down with a firm _smack _to the middle of his right cheek. Her hand fell again in that same spot another five times, just enough to make Sherlock begin wiggling, before she moved to the matching spot on his left cheek.

Mother was thorough spanker, Sherlock knew, and if this was the beginning, he was really in for it! Considering it was his mother, he didn't feel the need to hold back his displeasure at being spanked, the way he did when it was Mycroft administering the discipline. A young boy had to have his pride!

Despite Sherlock's slight shifting and wiggling in response to the building sting, and the odd "Ow!" or grunt of pain, Maud was quite proud of how well her son was taking his spanking. It wasn't easy for a thirteen year old boy to submit to such juvenile discipline from his mother.

His cheeks were a smarting pink, from crest to sit spots. Up and down her hand rose and fell again and again, setting his poor bum on fire. Sherlock squirmed and yelled when she ratcheted up the strength and speed behind the spanks. "Ow! Mother! Ow! Ouch!" He kicked and yelled and it never made her stop, but Sherlock couldn't ever seem to keep himself from doing it either.

"I know it hurts Sherlock, but think about Rose. Think about how you'd feel if she'd been really hurt while you were supposed to watch her? You'd feel terrible, I know you would, because you love her. You have to remember, despite your enthusiasm to teach her things, she's only two and still learning," Maud lectured. After the bit of lecturing, Maud fell silent, letting her hand do all the talking.

_Wasn't it over yet?!,_ Sherlock thought desperately. "Mummy! Please Mummy! I'm sorry!" He was kicking furiously now, his hands holding tight to the duvet. His bum was hot and stinging and so very sore. He wouldn't sit for _ages!_

Knowing they were just about finished, Maud began targeting Sherlock's sit spots and upper thighs. "_Supervise _means you _stay with Rose_," she lectured, emphasizing certain words with sharp smacks. "If you _cannot _manage that, _you will not_ be allowed to watch her _anymore_. The _safety _of _everyone _in this family _is not negotiable_. There are _no _exceptions to that. Not for Mycroft, you or Rose. Do you understand?"

Rather than answer verbally, Sherlock let out a distressed wail and ceased his kicking and squirming. The spanking stopped at once and Maud's hand, so good at smacking naughty bottoms, did something else it was very good at—soothing her baby.

"There, there, Sherlock," she soothed, rubbing his back with her hand. "You're such a smart boy and I know we'll never need to talk about this again. You were very brave for your spanking Sherlock; Mummy's brave boy." After a bit of soothing, she carefully returned Sherlock's clothing to its proper place and promptly turned him over for a cuddle. In Maud's book, discipline and love went hand in hand and to do one without the other wasn't right.

Despite being a boy of thirteen, Sherlock practically melted against his mother when she hugged him tightly. He'd never admit it to another soul ever, not even Rose, but Sherlock needed these cuddles and soaked them up from his mother every time. No one cuddled better than his mummy and she never judged him for crying on her shoulder after a spanking. Mycroft _never _cuddled and he was probably rubbish at it anyway!

Maud continued to soothe and rock her son in his arms, letting him cry out all his tears, telling him how much she loved him in that soft, soothing tone. "That's my good boy," she whispered. "Mummy loves you. It's alright now. Everything is forgiven, I promise."

Mother and son stayed like that for what seemed like quite some time, until Sherlock was nearly asleep in Maud's arms. She deftly moved him a bit and stood, pulling back the bed clothes, and tucked him up snuggly in his bed for a nap. Once he was tucked in, she sat beside him and ran her fingers through his wild curls until he was fast asleep.

* * *

While Maud and Sherlock had a 'talk' in their mother's room, Mycroft was dealing with his own issue in the bathroom, namely bathing one very messy little Holmes. Having hosed her off outside, Mycroft carried her into the house, grimacing as mud still managed to smear on his tweed country attire; Sherlock would _definitely_ be paying for the dry-cleaning!

Once he'd corralled Rose in the bathroom, Mycroft turned on the tap, adjusting the water to the right temperature and let the tub begin to fill. When Rose demanded bubbles he acquiesced, adding his mother's lavender bubbly concoction to the water, unable to suppress a smile when Rose grinned excitedly.

"Why is it you never want a bath except when you get bubbles?" he asked, looking down at the toddler. "What is so fascinating about the bubbles? A bath is still a bath."

Rose didn't give him much of an answer, babbling about Mummy and bubbles and pretty smells as Mycroft shut off the water and proceeded to undress her. He plopped her into the tub, grimacing as she splashed him.

"Now look here Rosenwyn. This is _your _bath, not mine. You are the one that gets wet and gets washed, not me. I just do the washing, understand?"

"Un-stan," she agreed. Then splashed him again.

"Rose, no!" He rolled his eyes when she merely giggled in response.

"This is not going to work. We're getting you washed up and then you're coming right out. I don't want to be splashed so no playtime, just your silly bubbles," he decided. He stood up and retrieved a flannel from the cupboard, putting it into the water until it was good and soapy.

"Good god, how can you possibly be so dirty?" Mycroft wondered aloud as he began to scrub up the baby. "It's everywhere and after I hosed you down and everything! Must be a special talent of yours, Rose. What do you think of that?"

"Goo-god!" she echoed. Her smile turned into a frown once he took hold of an arm and tried to wash it off. "No! No! Noooooo! Wan play!" Rose hollered, trying to extract her arm from his gentle hold on it.

"You sound as if you're being murdered and no one in the history of the world has died from being bathed, I assure you. Besides, I already said we weren't playing, because you were splashing. I don't like being splashed, it's not nice," Mycroft tried to explain patiently. At times the amount of patience he was able to muster for Rose was rather astounding.

Rose's protests stopped and she looked at him for a moment, as if thinking very hard about his words. Her big brother didn't waste the opportunity and continued to scrub away the layers of caked-on mud, revealing the tiny arm beneath them. "Nah nice. 'pashing nah nice?" she finally asked.

Mycroft took a second to bask in his pleasure at how quickly she picked up words and phrases, which she appeared to understand. "Close. Not. N-o-t is how you say it. Not nice. The other word is splashing; sp-lash-ing." He sounded the words out for her a few times.

The toddler tried once more. "Spashing not nice?"

It was good enough for now, so Mycroft didn't correct her pronounciation again. "That's right. I don't like it when you splash me, it makes me sad, because I don't want to be wet." My god, I sound like an idiot, he couldn't help but think. Splashing made him sad indeed! It was worth it though, when he heard her response.

"Sorry, My. Love you," Rose said in a tiny voice, looking up at him sadly. "No spashing."

It was unbelievably unfair that she was such a sweet little monster. It almost, _almost, _made him feel badly for having scolded her. "That's a _very, _very good girl Rose. _Such_ a good girl to say sorry!" Mycroft praised, giving her a smile. "It's alright, I forgive you. Thank you for saying sorry." When her face lit up at his praise, Mycroft tickled her tummy just a bit before returning to the task at hand.

Before long, and with minimal splashing, Rose was clean and smelling of lavender as he lifted her from the tub. She was dripping from head to toe and Mycroft hurried to dry her off before she became chilled. A knock on the door disturbed his work and he looked up as Maud opened the door.

"How is it- oh goodness! Is that my baby? No more nasty mud, just baby?" Maud asked, giving her little girl a smile.

"Yes!" Rose answered. She seized the opportunity for escape and wriggled out of the towel and squeezed past her mother before Maud could even react.

Mycroft groaned loudly. "Thank you Mother, so very much." He got up from the floor and shot past his mother, towel in hand, trying to catch the naked toddler. "Rose! Rose, stop right where you are!" he called sternly. "Stop!"

Rose skidded to a stop at the end of the hallway, finding every door closed with the knobs much too high for her to reach. She immediately turned around and ran back the way she'd came, letting Mycroft catch her up in the towel, giggling as he bounced her a bit.

"You're a ridiculous girl Rose," he murmured, holding her against his chest.

"It's nap time, but I'm not certain she'll be able to rest after all the excitement," Maud admitted. "Should Mummy take you to get dressed Rose? Then we could have a nap together in Mummy's big bed! Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Mycroft looked at his mother with concern. She looked exhausted and he was certain she had yet another migraine. "I may not agree with her propensity for streaking about the house, but we're fine," he said quietly. "You should rest, before it gets any worse. I'll get her dressed and she can play in the study with me. You know how she is; when she's tired, she'll pass out anywhere, bed or no bed."

Maud sighed heavily, knowing her eldest son was right but feeling guilty all the same. "Sometimes I think I ask far too much of you Myc."

"Of course not," Mycroft responded, hoping to cut off the spewing of sentiment before it picked up steam. "We're fine. Mother can go to sleep because we're just fine, aren't we poppet?" He looked down at her, smiling when Rose gave him a bright grin.

"Mummy go sleep. Night-night," Rose said, blowing Maud a kiss.

"Be a lovely girl for Mycroft, hm?" Maud requested before kissing her baby. She gave Mycroft a look of thanks and disappeared into her bedroom.

* * *

An hour later, Mycroft looked up from his laptop to find his sister fast asleep on the floor of the study. She still held a crayon in one hand, her head resting on the coloring book, her curls framing her pretty face. God, she looked cherubic like that, he couldn't help but think. If anything ever happened to her… Mycroft shook his head, as if shaking the thought out of it.

He stood and crossed the room to pick her up, tickled pink to find that even in sleep she cuddled up with him. Was there ever a sweeter little girl in the whole world? Probably not. After all, Holmeses never did things half way! He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before tucking her in on the small sofa in the study, making certain he wrapped her up warmly in the blanket. Then, with a smile, Mycroft returned to his desk and his seemingly never-ending job.

* * *

Three weeks later the Holmes family made another weekend trip to the country house. Maud's health hadn't been the best since their last trip and believing that the fresh country air and some time resting would be good for her, Mycroft had encouraged this second trip. He had not, however, been able to leave the city as early as he liked, so Maud, Sherlock and Rose had gone on ahead and he would join them as soon as he could.

"Mother, you should rest," Sherlock commented when they arrived. "You look so tired. I'll take care of Rose. Get her unpacked and all that. Want me to make you some tea?" He picked up Rose, whose was bounding about the entry way and settled her on his hip, quietly shushing her for a moment. Sherlock was thrilled when she merely cuddled up to him and listened while the 'grown ups' spoke.

"If you're sure, love. Rose is so energetic and forever getting into things. Are you certain you can manage on your own?" Maud asked worriedly.

"I'm sure. Go on, or Mycroft will be cross with you whenever he gets here. He told me to make certain you weren't too worn out. If only you'd have let me drive!"

Maud chuckled and leaned over to kiss her boy's curly head. "Darling, you aren't even licensed. I know you think it's all about mechanics and motion and combustion and all those good elements- and you're correct- but not until you've taken the proper courses and been licensed. I'm grateful for your offer though, Sherlock, really."

She took Rose from him and cuddled her close. "Mummy is going to go rest my love. Play nicely with Sherlock and try not to be too much trouble, alright?"

Rose nodded, her curls bouncing from the movement, and she gave her mother a big wet kiss on the cheek. "Love Mummy," she murmured.

"I love you too," Maud assured the little girl before setting her down. "Come get me if you need me Sherlock." She disappeared upstairs and into her bedroom, more than ready for some rest.

After unpacking their clothes and Rose's toys for the weekend, Sherlock set his little sister up with a movie in the sitting room. He let her pick it out and wasn't at all surprised when she picked Cinderella. Sherlock was certain Rose had watched it at least 100 times, thus the reason for having a copy here as well as at home. He really ought to keep track better, but there were generally other, more interesting experiments to do.

"I'm going to tuck you up on the couch Rose, with Teddy, and you can watch Cinderella," Sherlock explained as he wrapped her up in a blanket on the couch. "You stay here and watch. I'm going to work in the kitchen."

"Work? What Sh'ock do? I help!" Rose volunteered, grinning brightly at him.

"You can help by staying right here and watching with Teddy," he quickly reassured her. "I'll call you when I need more help. How's that sound?" When Rose gave her approval of that idea, he ruffled her curly hair, making her giggle, and turned on the film before leaving the room.

By the time Rose's film ended, Sherlock was hard at work in the kitchen, trying an experiment with battery acid he'd been planning since their last trip. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice the time passing, nor Rose coming into the kitchen and promptly escaping out the open door into the yard. He'd opened the door to assist in ridding some fumes, never once thinking that Rose might slip right past him without even noticing.

Rose was free! She ran out into the yard in her bare feet, giggling as the green grass tickled her toes. That was her very favorite way to play outside so she could feel everything she came across! There weren't any mud puddles today but that was just fine because the yard was full of animals, some happier to see her than others.

She plopped down in the grass and watched in awe as baby bunnies followed their mother to the garden and began nibbling on all the tasty plants they could find. Rose only managed to sit still for a moment before she got up and approached the fuzzy rabbits. "Bunny! Bunny! No go bunny!" she cried out when they scurried away. "Wan play bunny!"

It quickly became apparent over the next few hours that none of the animals to be found in the yard wanted to play with her! Rose chased the bunnies and the butterflies and the birds. They looked so pretty and were so close she could almost touch them, but she never could! Despite her lack of opportunity to pet the wildlife, she had a grand time chasing them around.

One animal, however, did not intend to make her acquaintance or even be noticed by her, and was taken by surprise as the tiny human moved closer to the bush in which it was hiding.

As the animal remained hidden and Rose continued to toddle closer to it, Mycroft finally made his arrival. Parking his car in the drive, he retrieved his suitcase and briefcase before heading inside. The house was unusually quiet and Mycroft immediately noticed that the television was on in the sitting room with no one to watch the DVD still in the player.

"Sherlock, where's Rose?" he immediately asked.

"She's watching Cinderella again," Sherlock called back. "Mother's napping."

Mycroft dropped his things there in the entry way and went into the sitting room. There was no toddler to be found and he headed straight for the kitchen, looking anything but pleased. "She is not in the sitting room Sherlock. Where did she go? Haven't we gone over this and over-"

His voice trailed off as he looked out into the yard and watched in horror as a fox emerged from a bush and began creeping ever closer to the baby, who was presenting picking flowers, completely oblivious to the approaching animal. "Oh my god."

Mycroft was out the door like a shot with Sherlock close behind him. It was then Sherlock saw the danger of the situation, frozen in place as Mycroft hollered and scared the fox away, frightening Rose in the process, who promptly burst into tears.

The eldest Holmes scooped up his sister and hugged her as tightly as he dared, feeling his heartbeat return to normal now that she was out of danger. "Shh, it's alright Rose. I'm sorry I frightened you. I didn't mean to do that and I'm very sorry," he shushed her gently, swaying a bit with her in his arms. When her tears subsided and he'd dried her face with his handkerchief, Mycroft headed back towards the house. "You stay right where you are Sherlock," he hissed as he passed by his brother with the baby. He promptly carried her upstairs, woke Maud, and left Rose in her capable care.

Sherlock was standing right where he'd been told to stay, unable, really, to move if he'd wanted to. That… he had not seen coming. It was the yard, it was safe. How'd she gotten out? How had he not heard her? What if Mycroft hadn't come when he did?

His concern over Rose quickly turned to sheer panic as Mycroft advanced on him. This was very, very bad. Mycroft was going absolutely _kill _him, and self-preservation overrode everything else as he scrambled to talk himself out of trouble. "I didn't mean it! I didn't put her outside, I didn't! Not this time, I swear!"

"You expect me to believe that? After the last time?" Mycroft growled. "How could you do that Sherlock? We're supposed to keep her safe! That's our responsibility! She is a toddler and they _toddle_, hence the name. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!"

"She must have gone out the door! I didn't hear her, I didn't know! Mycroft, I'm so sorry, I was working and…" Sherlock stopped talking as it dawned on him that he wasn't helping himself.

"So you were here, deliberately not paying attention, absorbed in your ridiculous experiments and she just walked outside without you seeing it? Is that really your defense, that this is somehow _better_?!" the eldest Holmes thundered.

Sherlock blanched. "Technically…" he said very slowly.

"Don't be smart Sherlock. _I'm _the smart one," Mycroft ground out. "And clearly the very much smarter one if the smacking from Mother didn't make this point absolutely clear to you already! Trust me, little boy, I am going to make it _oh _so very clear that you won't forget it for the rest of your life!"

"But she did! She did. I promise she did! You don't have to!" Sherlock protested, knowing already that Mycroft was going to wallop the daylights out of him just by the firm way his elder brother grabbed his arm and hauled him back into the house. Mycroft was so much meaner than Mummy was in just about every way possible.

"Mycroft! Be reasonable!" He yanked hard, trying to get his arm out of Mycroft's grasp. His efforts proved, unfortunately for him, quite worthless.

"Sometimes you are a very thoughtless and stupid little boy," Mycroft growled, stopping to land an almighty swat to his brother's clothed behind. He expected an immediate refute of such charges or at the very least a yelp or curse in response to the smack. Instead, all he got was a little sniffle. A _sniffle_?

Sherlock was filled with righteous indignation as Mycroft manhandled him towards the study, then was taken by surprise when instead of responding to Mycroft's words- words they often threw around at one another- with a heated retort, he went silent. That was curiously odd. He was still pondering just how odd that was when Mycroft smacked his bottom, causing Sherlock to bite his lip and begin sniffling.

How very, very odd, the boy decided. Then, quite suddenly, just as Mycroft practically shoved him into the study, it dawned on Sherlock what was so very odd: he _felt _guilty. He felt, for the first time, that his brother's go-to scolding phrase was true. He _had _been thoughtless and stupid and because of that, Rose could have been seriously hurt.

The continuation of sniffling as Mycroft escorted his brother into the study and firmly shut the door behind them was puzzling. Sherlock never sniffled like that, or at least not until he'd been soundly spanked. One good smack wasn't likely to get such a dramatic reaction from him. What in the world was going on?

Suddenly it hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks: Sherlock wasn't reacting to the smack or his impending spanking, the young teen felt badly for putting Rose in danger. Mycroft had never questioned his brother's affection for their endearing little sister, but this was still a surprising development from the boy who, just three weeks ago, had been spanked for essentially same thing by their mother.

He rounded on his younger brother, fully intending to continue shouting at him when he saw the look on Sherlock's face. The young teen looked absolutely devastated, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

The severity of the situation having slammed into Sherlock was making it difficult to control his emotions. If Mycroft hadn't come, Rose could have been attacked by that fox. A fox wouldn't bother an adult, but a little kid? Rose was hardly a threat to anyone, let alone a fox.

"I'm a horrible brother," Sherlock whispered. "The _most _horrible brother. She could… could have… could have been attacked and hurt and it would have been all my fault." With every word he spoke it was harder and harder to keep from crying.

Despite himself, Mycroft softened just a bit when he saw Sherlock's genuine regret. It made him rethink how hard he intended to be on his brother. As brilliant as he was, sometimes Sherlock just didn't see the whole picture, particularly when it came to Rose. He'd always been so convinced that they were too fussy and too protective of her, and thus stifling her intelligence, that he'd never really sat and thought through their concerns. Now his brother was coming to realize their concerns were very much real and no matter how smart Rose was, she was still just a tiny, defenseless toddler.

Sherlock could see it all in his mind's eye, the fox attacking Rose, scarring her for life if not killing her. He hadn't noticed her leave, he hadn't tried to notice her leave, he'd assumed she was still watching her idiotic film. He'd been too consumed with his own work to stop and _think _about her. He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned away from Mycroft as tears began falling quietly from his eyes.

Damn it, Mycroft thought to himself. He'd _have _to offer Sherlock some sort of brotherly wisdom and comfort, no matter how uncomfortable that made him. They just didn't do that, he and Sherlock; while he cared about his brother, it wasn't something he generally expressed.

He reached out and squeezed Sherlock's shoulder gently. "You're not a horrible brother, Sherlock.

You're still learning how to be a big brother and it takes a while to figure out how it's done. I'm a much better brother to Rose than I was to you at that age," Mycroft admitted. "I probably would have let the fox eat you."

Sherlock's stopped sniffling and turned to face his brother. "You're really awful, you know that?" he grumbled in an almost affectionate sort of way.

The corners of Mycroft's mouth twitched. "I know; I do try. Don't think I'm kidding either because I really wanted a dog. The fox would have been doing me a favor."

The younger Holmes stared up at his brother for a moment, trying to decide if Mycroft was kidding or not.

"In all honesty, Sherlock, you've done very well being a big brother. Rose clearly adores you and your excitement in teaching her things is wonderful, so you're well on your way to being a fantastic big brother. Just remember that one of the most important aspects of it is protecting her. That's part of our job, a very large portion of it in fact. She needs us to do that."

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "I'm really sorry. I put her in danger and its unforgivable, I know," he said quietly. "But I promise it will never, ever happen again."

Mycroft nodded. "I appreciate your apologies…" He paused for effect and then continued on. "However, you're still getting a spanking."

"What? Why?!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I learned my lesson Mycroft! I did!"

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I'm _so _happy for you," he quipped sarcastically. "However, I'm going to reinforce your lesson by giving you a sore reminder that will assist you in thinking twice before ever letting her out of your sight again."

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed a few times before he gave Mycroft a very epic pout. "You're _so _much meaner than Mummy."

An eyebrow quirked. "Indubitably," Mycroft responded. "However, that is neither here nor there. Your fate has been sealed, so I suggest you accept it and skip the strop. Trousers and pants down Sherlock, and then you can either go over my knee or you can bend over the desk."

The teen looked completely outraged. "Trousers _and _pants?!"

"Is there something wrong with your hearing, brother mine? Yes, trousers and pants. In case you've forgotten since the last time I smacked you, I don't give baby spankings over clothes. Do it, and do it now Sherlock, or I'll do it for you and I promise you'll be very, _very_ sorry if I have to do that."

With a huff, Sherlock unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers before pushing them and his pants down to his knees. Blushing bright red, he bent over the desk and gave Mycroft a look that was half-pout half-glare. "Well. Get on with it then," he grumbled.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and retrieved a ruler from a drawer in the desk. He stood up and moved to Sherlock's side, briefly placing a hand on the small of his brothers back.

"How many?"

"Haven't decided yet. When you start howling, I'll know," he said, more to irritate Sherlock than anything else.

Before Sherlock could even utter a suitable response to that, the ruler fell across the center of his bum, _hard. _He winced, unprepared for the sting, but kept silent. In fact, he was determined to remain as quiet as possibly, not wanting to give Mycroft the satisfaction of making him cry.

Mycroft, well used to Sherlock's attempts at stoicism, paid him no mind as he methodically brought the ruler down across the crest of the boy's cheeks and worked his way down. The ruler left sore, red stripes in its wake.

By the time Mycroft had smacked him a dozen times with that dratted ruler, Sherlock was sniffling despite himself. Each smack was like a line of fire across his bum and the accumulated effect of many smacks was becoming very uncomfortable.

Satisfied for now with the shade of Sherlock's bottom, Mycroft turned his attention to the boy's sit spots and upper thighs. He cracked the ruler down _hard _multiple times, intending to make his displeasure very clearly known with that ruler. "Rose is a responsibility, _our _responsibility," he began lecturing. "If you agree to watch her, you must do it, or she could get hurt. You'd never forgive yourself if your carelessness got her injured."

"Ow! Mycroft! Ow! OW! Nooooo! Not there!" Sherlock howled, barely able to hear the lecture over the sound of his own protests. The ruler on his upper thighs was sheer _hell _and he began to wonder if he'd even survive this spanking.

The eldest Holmes ignored his little brother's protests and moved the ruler back up to his bottom, working his way from crest to crease once again. Just as the ruler smacked across Sherlock's sit spots another time, the teen began to sob. Feeling as if the point had been well made, Mycroft put the ruler down and patted Sherlock's back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"Alright, we're done. I know it's very sore but you'll be alright. I wouldn't actually hurt you, you know," he commented. "When you're ready you can get up and fix your clothing." He gave Sherlock's back one more pat before moving away to return the ruler to its spot in the desk drawer.

Sherlock pulled his pants and trousers back up, continuing to cry. "What if I can't do it?" he asked through his tears. "What if I can't protect her Mycroft? What if I fail?"

Despite himself, Mycroft reached out once more and squeezed the teen's shoulder. "Just do your very best. That's all anyone can ask of you. That's all _I_ will ask from you."

"Can I go? Are we done?" Sherlock asked. When Mycroft nodded, confirming they were finished, he hurried out of the office and shut the door behind him. Only then did he reach back and rub his bum gently. It felt like he wasn't going to sit comfortably for days!

Not in the mood to resume his experiment just now, Sherlock headed upstairs to his room, intending to lick his wounds in private. Mycroft was such a git! Once inside his room, he shed his trousers and crawled under the duvet, intending to rest and try to clear his head.

A few minutes later, just as he was getting comfy, something smacked his face. Opening his eyes, Sherlock saw it was Teddy, who was followed by Rose. The baby grinned proudly at having got up on the bed. "Wan play?" she asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No Baby, I'm tired," he admitted in a whisper. "Want to have a cuddle?"

Never one to turn away a cuddle, Rose grinned delightedly at the idea. Sherlock lifted the duvet and Rose got underneath and snuggled up against him. "I love you, you know," Sherlock whispered to his sister. "So much. I won't ever let anything bad happen to you, I promise." He wrapped an arm around her protectively and kissed her cheek.

An hour later, Maud carefully opened Sherlock's door and peeked inside the room. Sherlock and Rose were sound asleep, her little boy holding the baby close. They were positively adorable and she hurried to find a camera, determined to capture this moment of sweetness for all eternity.


End file.
